Red Passion
by Slinky-and-the-BloodyWands
Summary: Post HBP. A vampire saves Draco from death and introduces him to a dark world. With Hermione Granger on the menu, can Draco save his enemy and his own soul? DMHG
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from his universe used in this story.**

**Chapter 1**

Days had turned into weeks and still Draco waited in his dank, lonesome prison. Had the Dark Lord forgotten him? He thought not, but he wondered why else Voldemort would delay his promised execution. The Dark Lord's anger and rapture had mixed so naturally the night Draco was taken that it had frightened him even more than his current position as an attempted murderer. Voldemort had been ecstatic to hear of his old enemy's demise, but when his red slit eyes fell on Draco, he saw a coward worthy of punishing. Severus Snape he had scolded like a misbehaved child before rewarding, but it was Draco who had received the bad end of their master's wand.

Narcissa Malfoy had not gone unpunished for asking Severus to make the Unbreakable Vow. She had felt her bones ache as Crucio swept through her body. However, the Dark Lord leniently let her walk away after the curse. The Dark Lord would let Draco take her and Lucius's punishment, and he would only be happy after the destruction of the Malfoy's future—after the death of their only heir. This was the mercy of their master—he was in such a good disposition to let them off so easily.

Draco let a choked laugh pass through his parched lips. Mercy. Mercy would have been death that very evening instead of prolonged torture within a cell. What had Dumbledore said on the subject? "It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters now."

Draco had realized the power of those words, and their foolishness, the moment that the old wizard had muttered them. Draco would be at the end of Voldemort's wand soon, and it would not be the Dark Lord in need of Draco's mercy. Murder would not effect Voldemort the way it might a normal wizard.

Footsteps sounded down the stairs, two sets. Draco looked up and pulled himself from his cot. He stood at the center of the cell as the two Death Eaters unlocked the entrance and walked inside. They were masked and did not speak. Instead they pointed their wands at the young man and gestured for him to walk. Normally, these two would be jeering at the doomed wizard, but they recognized him as their own and were too stilled by the thought of his punishment to even reveal their identity.

Draco's palm itched for the chance to hold his wand, but he knew that the instrument had been twice broken when he had been locked behind bars. There was no chance of escape for him. The young wizard swallowed a snarky comment threatening to burst from his lips at the wand poking him in the elbow and slowly walked up the stairs with the Death Eaters at his tail.

They entered an open chamber where only a few candlestands lit the middle of the room. Draco could see his fellow Death Eaters holding to the shadows—many would play audience in order to learn from the Malfoys' example. In a makeshift throne of twisting wood and metal sat Lord Voldemort, his pet snake slithering at his feet and his wand dangling from between two long fingers. The Dark Lord did not stand or even look in Draco's direction as he entered.

The young man walked to the center of the room, where the lights shined their brightest, as if it were the safest spot.

"On your knees," the Dark Lord commanded.

Instinct told Draco to disobey but futile hope made him drop down to the ground.

"Your family is in disgrace," Voldemort hissed, his voice high so that all could hear his judgment. "I give you the chance to redeem them. I tell you to kill a pathetic old wizard. . ."

_The only one you ever feared._

"And all past sins would have been forgotten. Had you died in trying, your family would have had reason to take pride in you. Instead, you_ surrendered _your glory to my new right hand. Think, boy, you could have had that place beside me—were you not such a coward. Oh, yes, your lord knows what words passed between you and that muggle lover. And I know that you lacked the strength to ignore such temptation. You failed, and therefore, you will die on this day, a pathetic worm."

Voldemort's thin lips pulled into a grin. "In my _kind generosity_, I shall grant audience to any last words you may have. They say a man is wisest as he watches his life fade—enlighten us."

Draco's hope had vanished. He was at death's door and no amount of sucking up would hold the lock.

"See you in Hell, you filthy mudblood."

Voldemort's smile only widened as he raised his wand with practiced grace. His mouth opened to form the Killing Curse.

"My lord . . ." came a faint whisper. It shook the room, and Draco saw the Death Eaters move about uncomfortably. Voldemort's wand lowered ever so slightly, and he looked past Draco toward the entranceway.

"Darien, my servant, what brings you to this humble execution? Fishing for leftovers?"

Draco's curiosity would not allow him to stay still. He turned his head toward the newcomer. The man towered over the shadows of Death Eaters as he stepped past them. Darien, as Voldemort had called him, looked down at Draco, a mane of smooth black curls curtaining most of his face. Pale blue eyes shined out from beneath the dark brow, dancing over the young wizard's still form. His paper-white skin seemed to glow as he looked up at the Dark Lord before him.

"Actually, I wish to take a burden off of your hands, my lord," Darien said in a crisp voice that made Draco think of a music box.

"Surely you do not refer to this one?" Voldemort asked. The other man was quiet. "If you want him, take him, but he will be the only one. Do not come asking for another when this one has proved his uselessness." His voice lowered, forgetting the careless manner of his previous statement. "And do keep in mind that I prefer not to feed the dogs at the table."

Darien raised a finely arched brow. "Of course, my lord, but I think I will be pleased with him."

"A matter of taste, I must assume," Voldemort said with an unnatural shrug. "Claim him and remove him from my sight before I change my mind."

Darien held a hand out, and Draco stared at the stranger a second more before hesitantly taking the help. Darien's mood seemed to change as he touched the young man's flushed palm. Before Draco was fully standing, Darien released Draco's hand only to grasp the young man around the neck, lifting him up until only his toes scraped the floor. Draco tried screaming but found that he could no longer breathe. Darien smiled, his sparkling blue eyes stained with veins of crimson that encircled the piercing irises. Panic flushed through Draco, and his body went limp at the knowing in its mind.

Darien ripped open Draco's robes at his neck and stared at the white flesh screaming back at him in a coat of beaded sweat.

Darien's mouth widened, long fangs peaking out from above his lower lips. Draco's vision blurred as his body cried out for oxygen. The young wizard recognized the creature that held him. It was a vampire, a drinker of blood. Draco braced himself as Darien pushed cold lips against the skin at the base of his neck and teeth sliced into warm flesh.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"_Blood is life."_

The words echoed in Draco's mind, expanding, bouncing off of black walls that shouldn't have existed. In between every syllable was a laugh as silver and charming as wedding bells. But a haunting coldness lay just beneath those sweet sounds, threatening to reach up with smoke fingers and grasp the purity that remained above.

"_Blood comes before all other passions in this world. Food holds no substance; water does not quench our thirst. Love is not an act or feeling without its essence. Blood is life."_

Draco knew his eyes were open, but he could not tell if the visions displayed before him were real or simply figments of his imagination. He could see 'them' watching in the shadows, shaking with nervous trembles. They had expected to witness an execution, but what was taking place before them shook them core deep. Draco could see into the darkness, every fold of their black on black robes. He could see one unmasked Death Eater, Aunt Bellatrix, staring at him with something between fright and curiosity. He could see a line of sweat dripping down her unlined forehead. Draco knew that it could not be real—no one could see that well without more light.

Nevertheless, his eyes would not stop searching for his mother. He knew her height, her stance, her smell, yet he could find her nowhere in the crowd. His mum was not in attendance. He wanted to see her. Funny that he had not searched for her when he thought he might die, but now he needed to see her face more than ever.

His mind lied and whispered that the arms wrapping around his form, one under his shoulders and one bracing his legs, belonged to her. He was lifted and his vision blurred for a moment, a spectral of lights dancing in front of him. He was moving so fast, so very fast. He wanted to close his eyes but found that his body refused to react. Something lukewarm was running down his lip into his open mouth. A droplet splashed onto his tongue, salt and metal. His body arched, and he gasped, forcing his eyes shut to endure the rush.

"_Blood is life. Blood has bonded me to you. I claim you, Draco Malfoy. You are mine. Do you understand?"_

Draco awoke, his head swooshed into a soft pillow that smelled like mold and dust. His arms shook with his own weight, but he pushed himself onto his side. He raised his head, a questioning look on his face. Darien sat a few feet away in a delicate wooden chair. His eyes remained focused on the young wizard in front of him, but the vampire's thoughts seemed elsewhere.

A chilled swept over Draco, and he realized that he was nude beneath the crisp white sheets draped over his body. He tightened a fist around the material and pulled it close to his chest in a coy gesture.

"What the bloody hell did you do to me?" Draco snapped. "And where did you put my clothing, you blood sucking pervert."

Darien smiled, his soft laughter spewing out between his lips. "So much fire over the ice. . . You are such an attractive child, Draco—not a characteristic I find unappetizing." Draco recoiled at the feral grin sent his way. "Do not fear, boy. I am in need of neither a lover nor dessert, so you may rest more easily."

Draco flinched at the line. "Then what do you want me for—just for my good looks, I suppose?"

Darien looked away. "You probably have many such questions. It would most likely serve you better to move on to another."

"Why am I still alive? The Dark Lord wanted me dead," Draco said.

"Because I wished it." Darien frowned. "Voldemort owes me, my kind, more than one favor." The vampire's eyes darted back to the young man. "And do _not_ refer to him as a lord in this household. I am your master. I am your lord, and I do not share with others. Look at your mark."

Draco sneered at Darien's words but raised his arm. The dark mark remained, but looked flat, like simple ink on his skin.

"It's nothing but a reminder of the past. The magic tying you to the Dark Lord is gone, severed when I bonded with you."

"Bonded?" Draco's eyes widened. "You drunk from me. . . I tasted your blood!"

"Calm yourself," the vampire snapped. "You are not a vampire. I would have to drain you dry and fill you with my own life to make you one of us, boy."

"So, what am I? A slave? A servant?" Draco hissed. "I didn't ask you for help. So why should I owe you anything? What makes you 'my new master'?"

"I bought you with debt, and you are mine!" The vampire was grasping Draco's neck before he even saw the dark creature move. "Do not make me prove my dominion over you, child!"

The vampire released him, stepping back and dusting off his overcoat as if he had somehow dirtied it. "As for your role, consider yourself an indentured guest. Now, Draco, enjoy the accommodations. My day keeper, Madam Hart—a fine muggle woman whom you would do well not to pester—will serve you if you wish for a change of clothing or food. Do not think yourself above her, for you have no wand, and my wards can detect even the slightest hint of magic use."

"Anything else, Master?" Draco all but growled.

"We will dine when you awaken, two hours after sunset. Then you may ask any questions you may have." The vampire's eyes narrowed, a hint of blood in them. "And, Draco? If you attempt to escape from this estate, blood will me spilled—no exceptions."

The vampire walked out of the room, and an elderly woman walked past him with a short bow and a sweet smile. The woman walked into the room and stood beside Draco's bed, hands clasped in front of her patched apron dress. "Hello, my dear. I am Madame Hart," she said in a cheerful voice. She chuckled lightheartedly. "Oh, what a cute little wizard you are! We haven't had one of your kind in the manor since I was a young thing. Would you like me to make you some tea? I've biscuits downstairs as well."

"Clothing would do fine," Draco snapped, "unless you prefer me to wander about in the nude."

The old woman giggled, new wrinkles springing around her eyes and mouth. "I wouldn't find that in the least offensive. As I've always said, 'you can't see enough bare backsides in this life or the next,'" she laughed. "But, if you insist, there's sleepwear in the wardrobe. I wouldn't bother with the fancy robes or jackets—after all, you'll just be going back to bed after your snack. I'll be right back with the biscuits, deary."

The woman turned on her heels and headed toward the door, humming a tune and poking fondly at the wispy ball of white hair on her head. Draco shook his head wondering if she even realized that she was serving a vampire. Only when he was certain that she wasn't in the room, he walked over to the wardrobe.

He sifted through the velvets and silks until he reached a set of plain blue-cotton pajamas. After slipping on the clothing, he walked to the nearest window. It was barred, as Draco had guessed, but he hadn't planned on jumping ship so fast. He stared outside. The hint of a rising sun peeked out from the heads of towering trees. Looking down, he realized that he was a few floors from the shadow-cast ground level.

"Beautiful, isn't it," Madame Hart said.

Draco resisted the urge to jump out of his skin and simply turned. The old woman held a tray of tea cakes and a cup of milk ("for strong bones and lovely straight teeth," she insisted). Draco sat on his bed, the old woman watching him eat. He picked up the cup of milk and downed half of it before he even considered that this was more than a bit odd.

He paused, letting himself actually taste what he had just swallowed. Then he realized how cottony his mouth felt—an after effect of sleeping potion. His eyes shot up at the old woman. She was still grinning.

"The master wishes you to sleep today," she explained. "Perhaps he'll let you see the sun tomorrow. Won't that be delightful, deary!"

Draco's eyes were drifting shut. He stumbled from his seat to the bed, pulling himself on top of the sheets and letting sleep take him.

"Such a sweet boy," Madam Hart cooed. She made a clicking sound with her tongue. "Pity, such a waste."


	3. Chapter 3

****

**Chapter 3**

Draco slept restlessly, his dreams haunted by the clap of wings, his quickened heart. A cold sweat gathered on his forehead and a falling bead stung his eye. Gooseflesh rose before the young wizard realized that he could feel the gentle tickle of breath on his skin. A pinch later warm, sticky wetness rolled down his neck

He awoke, pushing himself out of the bed. Flowering drops of crimson stained the pillow case, and Draco wiped at his neck with his sleeve. He turned a full circle, expecting to see the pale face of his new master hidden a corner, but he was alone, daylight revealing empty, shadow-less features that in no way resembled the vampire. He must have been dreaming, he must have scratched the scabs while he slept. Yes, that was the case. . . . The bite suddenly disappeared from his mind. He retraced his thoughts, realizing that it was indeed still day.

"Bloody muggle didn't know how much draught to give me," Draco sneered, walking to the window. The sun danced between two mountain tops, its light gracing the valley before it. Draco was certain that he would still have a good hour or so left to travel. "I just need to get to civilization . . . out of the forest. Maybe I could hide. . . I wish I had my damn wand."

"_If you attempt to escape from this estate, blood will me spilled—no exceptions._"

Draco shook his head, clearing it of that warning. "I won't be property to some beast and his old woman," he hissed.

No, he would run.

* * *

Darien sat up, eyes blood streaked in rage. He slid off the bed with a deliberately slow, human movement. The vampire reached out for the black satin bed robe lying at his feet and slipped it over bare shoulders. He already knew that Madam Melissa Hart stood outside his doorway. 

"Enter," he called.

Madam Hart walked into the lavishly furnished, windowless room, a frown on her usually upturned lips. "You asked me to report to you when the boy left."

Darien closed his eyes a moment letting them resume their natural blue gleam. His lips curved into a grin. "So soon?"

The old woman nodded. "Only a minute ago."

"The boy is more rebellious than I had expected—a sturdy spirit remains when all else fails," the vampire said, motioning for Madam Hart to open his wardrobe. "That which I value must be contained, though. I was hoping he would try to run tonight instead of carrying on for days. I have little patience, as you well know, Melissa. This evening will prove a valuable lesson."

"Indeed it will, my master," Hart crooned, laughter in her eyes. "Yes, indeed. But shouldn't you be after him soon?"

"I will let him go for a bit, let him push himself to weakness. I will even let him know hope—and then I will snatch it from him.'' Darien took the clean suit that the woman held out to him. "I only fear my new child will be a slow learner."

* * *

Draco threw himself behind a tree three times his width and grasped onto the bark to keep himself standing. He looked back at the path he'd just traveled. A few limbs swung laboriously from his passing, and the leaves and loose ground he'd trampled upon announced his presence for even the worst tracker. He cursed bitterly at his own stupidity, but the words only came out in puffs as he struggled to catch his breath. 

His escape had been easy (too much so, perhaps). The old muggle woman had been cleaning about the house, humming a jolly tune as she worked. Draco had simply slipped past her and out the kitchen door. There had been no hex, no lock, and no ward, nothing to keep him inside. No, it wasn't the manor that kept him from making progress.

The woodland seemed to grow. Every step he took seemed to stretch out the landscape, making his journey even more daunting. So far, he had traveled a long ways, but he had only a few minutes of sunlight left and the canopy of leaves above him shadowed the ground enough for any dark creature's liking.

Draco turned, putting his back against the bark for support and attempting to quiet his heavy breathing. That's when he heard it, the sound of a slamming door. Panic shot through him but vanished in an instant. The sound had come from somewhere ahead, not behind.

He ran through the forest, his eyes searching until they found a faint light filtering though the trees. He reached a clearing and smiled at the welcoming sight of a quaint cabin up ahead. A beat-up, light blue muggle truck sat in front of the tiny home. An old man was bent over the rusted-out bed, pulling out a box full of groceries.

"Sir!" Draco shouted, running toward the muggle. "You must help me," the wizard insisted as the elderly man turned to greet him with owl-wide eyes.

"What seems the problem, lad?" the man asked, staring him up and down.

Draco realized that he was not up to his usually well kept self in his dirty pajamas and sweat saturated hair. A bead of salty liquid ran down into the wound at his neck reminding him that he was indeed worse for wear.

The man sat the box back down, reaching out and grabbing the young wizard's arm. "Lad, answer me! Are ye lost? Where's yer family? A lad can't have been out in these woods alone."

"No," Draco snapped. "I mean, yes, I am alone. But there's someone after me." He looked around his shoulder, a chill running up his spine. Draco's eyes flew back up, and he saw that the sky's purple shade was submitting to black-blue night. If there was any time he needed help from muggle, this was most definitely it.

"We have to go. He's coming!"

"Calm down, lad. There ain't nobody who can navigate these woods at night, so there's no need to fear. Now, come inside, and I'll fix ye right up, patch that nasty knick on your neck, too. Come in to Jacob's, and we'll find yer campin' party in the morning."

"Don't you understand, you stupid muggle! We have to go now. You must take me to the nearest town!" Draco shouted.

"I'll not tell ye to calm down again, lad," the old muggle said, running gnarled fingers over his bald head. "The local village is not a short distance, and I just returned from a trip to it. Just come inside. I've got me fire goin', and ye can tell old Jacob all about yer troubles over a bowl of something warm."

Draco pulled out of the man's grasp, raising a warning fist toward the skyline. "If we don't leave now, we'll both die. The creature after me is a vampire—surely, even a muggle knows what a vampire is."

Jacob stared at him with a questioning expression before nodding in conclusion. "Ay, I've heard of one of those," the muggle said softly. "Alright, lad, I'll take ye to the village. They've a good doctor there. 'E can patch ye up a bit better than ol' Jacob, I s'ppose."

Draco rolled his eyes, realizing that the old man thought that he was some sort of delusional mental case. "Fine, let's go," Draco snapped, walking to the passenger's door of the automobile. Jacob slid over the cracked seat and cranked the truck. The vehicle moaned and sputtered before finally jerking to a roar.

The muggle gave Draco a few cautious glances as he began driving down the bumpy dirt and gravel path that left both of them hovering above their seats every few seconds. _He probably expects me to begin convulsing or something. Why do muggles have to be so completely ignorant when it comes to the important things?_

"Where am I, anyhow?" Draco asked, sneering as the truck dipped into another pit and shook him.

"Ye must have been in the woods a while, eh?" Jacob muttered. "From the village, I'd say the closest city is 'bout three hours drive. It's a place called. . ." Jacob's mouth went slack, and the truck lurched to a stop, slamming both inside against the dash board.

"What the bloody hell are you doing?" Draco's outrage was replaced by fear. A tall figure stood less than a step away from the headlight's glare.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! Drive, Jacob," Draco growled. "That's the vampire! Drive already."

Jacob stared at the creature without blinking, a dazed look upon his wrinkled features. The vampire, Darien, slowly walked to the driver's side, a small smirk on his pale face. Jacob grasped the door handle, opening it for the vampire as if he were entranced.

"To hell with this." Draco fumbled with his own door handle until he found it. He tumbled out of the truck.

"Look what you have done," Darien hissed, grabbing Jacob around the neck and pulling him out in one swift motion. The old man did not even bother to struggle. The vampire kept his eyes on Draco. "This is your fault, not mine."

With those words, Darien whipped the muggle's head to the side with a definite crack and dug his fangs into the papery flesh.

Draco stumbled back, slamming his door shut. He turned on his heels and ran back toward the old man's cabin. Before the house even came into sight, he felt a hand on his back, slamming him down into the ground. Draco pushed himself up, but fingers laced into his hair, holding the side of his face down into the mud.

"Did I not tell you that blood would be spilled it you tried to run?" asked a calm voice.

Draco didn't answer, but his eyes averted up. Darien leaned down so that the wizard could see his crimson stained mouth and pinkened teeth.

"That man was going to die soon anyhow," Darien said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The doctors gave him six months when he went for his treatment last week. Jacob was going to throw his medicine away—he was giving himself to nature. I have been visiting him since he bought this cabin in my woods. He had, perhaps, three months left in truth. I planned to take him when the cancer became too painful. It would have been mercy. Your foolishness has stolen from him those three last months."

Draco let out a shuttered breath. "Please," he groaned.

"I wonder what you would do for three extra months of living. Would you give Death all of your galleons, you spoiled little brat? Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you, Draco," the vampire insisted. "I can only hope that you have learned your lesson. Another mistake, and the next blood spilled will be from a younger body, with many years of life left in it." Darien released him and pulled him up onto shaky legs.

"Go back to my home," the vampire ordered. "I must clean up your mess."

"How do you expect me to find my way back?" Draco asked.

"Follow your blood. Perhaps you still don't understand. I own you, boy. I tied your blood to mine. My manor is mine as well. You can find it the same way that I found you—that way in which I will _always_ be able to find you, no matter how far you run."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Draco pulled the blanket up, covering his shoulders and burying his head even further into the pillow. His pale face turned so that he could watch the warm glow from the window slowly fade away, leaving the room cast in elongated shadows. Before him sat a tray of deliciously displayed fruits and pasties, but he paid it little attention. Hunger had not been with him in several nights, not since he had attempted to escape the manor.

The dreadful evening that Darien had murdered the old muggle, Draco had indeed made it back to the vampire's estate without aid, and he had drug himself upstairs to his designated room as well. He hadn't left the spot since then. Madam Hart had brought him all forms of refreshments, stopping in just to check on him at times, but he not yet seen Darien.

Draco's gut clenched, and he realized that the vampire was on his way—so said his blood, and it could not be wrong.

A moment later the door opened, the dark eyed figure taking slow, deliberate strides into the room. Darien watched Draco from where he stood, and the young wizard instinctively knew that the vampire could see every detail, every mannerism of his form from that distance. Draco refused to meet his _master's_ eyes, disgust rising in him like bile at the back of his throat. He couldn't tell what angered him more, the thought that the vampire was a cold blooded killer or that he, Draco Malfoy, had been the reason for another innocent man's death.

"You do not look well," Darien said at last, crossing the floor toward the bed.

Draco rolled his eyes at the statement. "Speak for yourself—I'm still alive, which means I'm still better off than you."

Darien raised a warning brow. "Yes, you are," he said. "I do not agree with your weakened state, though. You will be far too irresistible to my guests looking like an injured lamb. They will have a difficult time keeping their hands off anything young and fresh, as it is. Nevertheless, I will need you downstairs tonight to represent the family."

_Family?_ Draco wanted to ask, but instead his arrogance won. "Housing a party?" he spat.

"Actually, I am."

Draco didn't reply, so the vampire reached down and grabbed the blanket by one corner, wrenching it out of the wizard's grip. Draco glared up at him, sitting up with arms crossed over his chest.

"Like I'd go to your little undead get-together," he growled. "Like I'd make nice with you and the _freaks_ you're inviting."

Darien did not look angered by the outburst, but a streak of crimson, as thin and faint as a pen mark, encircled his irises. "I would save the temper," the vampire said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It makes the blood rise to your skin."

He turned, walking back toward the doorway. "Madam Hart laid out your clothing and has taken the liberty of running you a bath. Be ready and downstairs within the hour. My guests will have already arrived. Entertain them with your delightful banter, if you wish. I will arrive shortly after. If you disobey. . ." He looked over his shoulder with a sneer on his wide lips. "I will know and you will most definitely reap the consequences."

* * *

Voices, as soft as whispers and as faint as the murmurs of a dream, filtered up the staircase. Their volume was loud enough, and their carefree tones were what one would expect to hear at a party. It was something in the meaning of their words that was wrong, so very inhuman and quiet. 

Draco listened from the corridor, the golden light of lamps and caged fire setting his face aglow. He ran a hand through his still damp hair, pushing it back as he had worn it throughout most of his school career. The darkness of the hallway behind him seemed to push him forward, tickling fingers down his spine. He knew that the sensation was false. After all, that was the dark downstairs; the parlor may be bright enough to see by, but the guests were the night itself.

The young wizard ignored such foreboding thoughts and stepped down the staircase, somehow managing to carry himself with an air of dignity. However, he didn't avert his eyes from his own feet until they caught sight of the wood paneling of the first floor. He saw then why the sound of their voices seemed so unearthly to him—those beings speaking did not match their own words.

They were beautiful, all of them. He was sure that a few must have been rather homely before the _fatal kiss _was bestowed them, but such faults must have all but disappeared. The plumpest face seemed round with succulence. Likewise, the gauntest was now a mystery lined with seductive shadowing. Draco had expected the vampires to have Darien's marble-like skin, and he was not disappointed with what he saw.

Their dress fell over that clear skin like paint, some of it in wizarding forms with fine fabrics, some modern muggle wear. There were even black dated styles reborn in the creatures' eternal bulges and curves. As for their ages, who could know? Several _looked_ to be his age, but others were better peers for his parents and professors. The distinctions between them were amazing, but their voices were all the same. Some sounded high and others deep, some were aristocratic and others were from the street. No matter the dialect, they all spoke in the same words, old words, blackened with maturity and pain.

Draco did not like hearing them, or seeing them, or even being in the same room with the large crowd of vampires. Their sheer number intimidated him more than Darien had yet accomplished on his own.

"No reason for fear, little wizard," said a delicious being.

She appeared beside him, a gothic wonder in violet and deep indigo velvet that tapered at her waist and hung down like a curtain parted halfway down the center. The vampire stared up at him, glittering wet eyes matching her gown. She leaned against him, swaying gently as if to let the crowd pass around her and lacing her fingers through his. Her bodice moved against his arm in waves and suddenly he was sand being seduced out to sea.

"You're Darien's boy." She smiled, a predator revealed in tiny pointed pearls behind her lips. "Draco," she cooed.

The wizard frowned, attempted to step away from her. "Thank you, but I'm already well aware of my own name."

"My name is Annalisa—perhaps that is something new for you to add to your. . ." She paused, running a finger over his temple. "Infinite bank of knowledge."

"Was that your attempt at sarcasm?" Draco snapped. The vampire gave a light, airy laugh, and the sound made a lump grow in his throat. _Perhaps that wasn't the most intelligent thing to say to a blood thirsty creature._ "Because it wasn't bad," he added as an afterthought.

Annalisa lifted his hand to her lips, running a soft, dry kiss over his knuckles. "Why thank you," she whispered. Draco felt her tongue dart out and lick his middle finger. "You're not bad, yourself."

_I don't know if I should be preparing for my death or waiting for the much anticipated loss of my vir-- _

"Anna!" snapped a voice. "Wait."

Draco turned to see another woman approaching him, making her way through a crowd of male vampires who looked on her bumbling walk with distaste. The seventeen-year-old boy's eyes followed her barely covered breasts as she bounced forward, her boots clicking heavily. A pixie's face flanked with pigtails of golden curls was suddenly hovering a few inches from his chest, eyes scanning him in an almost scholarly way. The vampire—for Draco knew that that was what she must be—rested her hands on the unbearably short skirt she was boasting and stood tall.

"Is this him?" she asked Annalisa, her voice as giddy as a schoolgirl's. "The new dragon?"

"Do you see anyone else with warm blood running through their veins?" Annalisa snapped.

"Well, there are plenty well fed here tonight, so yes," the blonde answered. A grin appeared on her face, and her hands found Draco's abdomen. She put an arm around him and turned him away from Annalisa. "Speaking of plenty. . ." she breathed in a husky voice.

"Holly, you know that the host has plans," the other vampire said, pulling Draco's hand so that he was still close to her. "This young wizard is to be our entertainment for the evening." Annalisa let go of Draco suddenly, hooking Holly's free arm in her own. "But what kind of civilized beings would we be if we didn't share?"

Draco had barely heard their conversation, his head heavy with fog. He sighed and realized that he had been moving for the last minute, out of the crowded foyer and into the poorly lit parlor. Suddenly, the one named Annalisa had pushed him back, and he stumbled into a wide, empty chair. She approached like a lion but pounced onto the arm of the chair instead of her prey. Her lips were on his before he could open his mouth to speak.

Her kiss took his breath, most literally, and replaced it with cold nothingness, but that didn't seem to stop his body from turning into a furnace. He heard a giggle, when she pulled away, and felt weight on this thigh. Holly was on the other arm, one leg over his lap and a hand running over his fine satin robes.

"No," he said feeling Annalisa nuzzle his neck softly. "I should go. . ."

"If you wish," Holly said, leaning into him to kiss his ear. "But go upstairs, where we can be alone, little wizard. Perhaps you can show us some of your magic tricks."

_Any other day, this would be a bout of good luck. Why the bloody hell do I have to know that they only want to suck me dry? Ignorance is such bliss. _"Stop," he asked. "Darien will be angry."

"He'll be happy that you were such a good host," Holly answered. And without a moment's thought, it became the right answer. For some reason, his mind wouldn't dare contradict her.

Then he felt it, a sting on his neck. It was the strangest feeling, leaving him drained, emotionless, but yet filled with a passion unknown to him. It was different from Darien's, somehow less powerful but more needy. Annalisa's eyes captured his when she lifted her head. Draco could see his blood in them, staring back mockingly.

"Don't worry. It's just a little," she assured him, stroking his cheek as Holly began to longingly search his skin for a spot most desirable.

Draco looked away from them, at the room itself. He would let them do as they wished. Let them kill him, if that was what they wanted. _It doesn't matter anymore, nothing does. This is how it ends. _

Light caught his eye as the parlor door opened, and his vision blurred even more so. Two figures lumbered in, the tallest, holding the other against him. Draco thought they were lovers, trapped in an embrace, but then he saw a face. The man, the vampire, Draco knew. He had seen those coal eyes before, hungering over the young girls of Hogwarts. What had been his name? Sanguini. The _tame_ vampire.

"Domesticated my arse," Draco muttered.

And then he saw her, head flung back and eyes closed in innocent sleep as the male vampire leaned down toward the pale flesh of her chest. Draco blinked. _How . . . That's impossible. . ._

Pushing himself up to Holly's dismay, he stared at the girl with the most dumbfounded expression imaginable.

"_Granger_?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Draco leaned his head back, propping his neck against the tub's cool ceramic surface as his body relaxed, the warm water slowly drawing the tension from his muscles. He ran the sopping sponge over his neck, wincing as the soap collected on the tender flesh surrounding his scabbed wounds. He dropped it back into the bath, and slid down beneath the silky surface, the water pushing against his eyes and filling his ears with pressure.

"_Granger?"_

_Sanguini's fangs grazed the skin of the limp girl in his arms, his blood stained eyes shooting up to meet Draco. His grasp tightened on his victim, and his face lit with a tiny smirk. "So this is the one Darien_'_s chosen?"_

_The female vampire at the young wizard's side let out a slight, animalistic growl. "Find another place to finish your leftovers," Holly hissed._

_Annalisa moved, her shoulder half blocking Draco's view of the male vampire. "You were asked not to bring your supper along. In fact, you were given the strictest of instructions. The host will provide for us."_

_The smile on Sanguini's face widened until it looked as if he was a beast flashing his teeth to his opposition. "Cold blood? Our host is greedy. And look at the whelp he's bonded to. . . That stringy wizard is little more than an appetizer. My lady, I think you are simply a bit jealous with my catch."_

_Holly spit at the floor, her saliva tainted with Draco's blood. "If I didn't know better, I'd say that that was your new Master's catch and that you are obediently receiving what he decided to throw out to the dogs."_

"_I have no master," Sanguini snarled. "And the Dark Lord of whom you speak doesn't know about this one. . ."_

"_What have I told you about playing with your food?" asked a cool voice._

_Draco leaned over Annalisa to see Darien_ _standing in the parlor's doorway._

The wizard shot out of the bath, sloshing water over the rim onto the tiled floor. He snatched his towel off of a nearby stand, wringing the beads of wetness off his face.

"What the hell happened last night?" he muttered, stepping out of the tub and wrapping the towel around his waist in one movement. The question repeated in his mind, finding its way out of his mouth again when he opened the door to his bedroom.

"Why, my dear, I wasn't there," said a sweet voice. Madam Hart looked up from in front of the tiny table by his window (a new addition from the day before). The woman had set up tea, a basket of fresh biscuits and pasties in front of a small plate. She folded her hands before her stomach, her strange smile hidden in her eyes. "I hope you enjoyed your bath."

"Yeah," Draco breathed. He glimpsed down at his dripping self. "Clothing?"

Madam Hart raised a brow. "I'm sure you're aware of the location of your wardrobe by now . . . However, I've taken the liberty of laying something out on your bed. It's a tad informal, but the master said that it would suit you better than the robes.

Black breeches and a long sleeved green button-up were folded neatly atop his pillow. He noticed that a folding screen was now standing at the opposite side of the room, its thin paper decorated with an oriental painting of a water dragon.

"You changed the room," he stated, laying the clothing over the side of the screen and hiding himself behind it as he changed.

"To better suit you," Madam Hart stated, her voice cheerful.

Draco tossed his towel over the side slipping into the trousers. He couldn't see the old muggle woman, but he knew that she was still standing beside the table. "What happened last night? Why can't I remember everything? It's all a blur. . ."

He heard a light, girlish giggle and walked out from behind the screen, still working the pearl buttons into their holes. "What?"

"Newcomers rarely can." Madam Hart grinned. "I've already told you that I wasn't there. However, I am the keeper of the house, and I am aware of everything that goes on within these walls. You proved to be very entertaining, I must say. The master has mixed feelings about the evening."

"What the hell happened?" Draco seethed. He was tired of her vagueness, and the flashes of memory in his head left him wanting the answer even more.

"If you're going to be rude," Madam Hart began, looking in the other direction as if she had just seen something in desperate need of dusting.

"I just want to know what I did last night. . . And quite possibly who I did what with," Draco hissed. "Can't you give me any answers?"

"I can." Madam Hart walked across the room as if to leave.

"Please," Draco growled.

Madam Hart turned, touching her messy ball of gray hair to fix it. "Don't be naïve, Master Dragon. . . You're still quite the virgin . . . physically, at least."

Draco could feel his whole face turning red. Had he been so embarrassed a year ago, he would have hexed anyone into the vicinity into the next millennium. Slytherins took special pride in their teenage 'prowling'. Sure, he had told a few fibs in relation to his sexual experiences, but mostly he let people think what they wished. . . And often they wished to think that the Slytherin Prince had taken on several select females over his summer vacations. He had even heard himself referred to as a Sex God. He had never said otherwise.

"That is not what I was asking," Draco sneered, "and you know it. What happened last night? I remember coming downstairs and these two vampires who. . ." He despised the next word out of his mouth. ". . . _Fed_ on me. Then this vampire I'd seen before appeared. His name is Sanguini." Draco's words trailed off. He could clearly remember that know-it-all Hermione Granger being present, though somewhat less that conscious.

"Ahh," Madam Hart breathed. "The girl. The witch. Yes, you pitched quite the fit. I think every guest was aware of your feelings on the matter when the master arrived."

"What?" Draco raised a brow. "What happened?"

"You were quite angry at the prospect of Master Sanguini having your friend as his meal," Madam Hart said, dreamily. "You didn't seem to have a problem with your own situation in the arms of Lady Annalisa and Madam Holly. However, when you saw the girl. . ."

"That mudblood Granger isn't a friend of mine," Draco interrupted.

"Oh." Madam Hart frowned, shrugging. "Very well then. I will inform the master of the mistake when he awakens."

She turned to walk away.

"Wait!" The wizard took two strides, grabbing her arm. "Wait, what happened after she arrived?"

Hart cocked her head. "What would you care? She's no friend of yours."

"But I do know her," Draco insisted. He blinked, taking an involuntary step backwards. "Is she alive?" he asked quietly.

"I would think that you would have at least remembered that much, youngling," Madam Hart said. She tapped her chin with one finger. "She is at the moment, mostly because of your passionate outburst. Master Darien would have let Master Sanguini take her and leave, except you, as I mentioned earlier, pitched quite the fit. You told Master Darien that she was a friend, I believe."

"I would _never_ say that," Draco replied. "I _hate_ that bloody do-gooder."

"Very well," Hart sighed. "I shall personally return her to Master Sanguini at nightfall. . ."

Draco's brow drew tight. "Return her?"

"Why, yes. I'm sure Master Sanguini will be delighted to have her back." Hart stared at the young wizard. "She is in one of the downstairs bedrooms at the moment. Master Darien let her live as a gift to you. I suppose he can take her back just as easily."

"Let Sanguini kill her?" Draco stared back. "Just give her over like a pig to the slaughter?"

"That's what I had in mind," the old woman replied. "The only other choice is to keep her in this household. We can't release her. She knows far too much already." Madam Hart gestured toward the table. "However, seeing as you have so much hate toward this individual, perhaps you would like to speak to her before then. There are a few hours before nightfall (yes, you did sleep quite late, little wizard), and I'm sure you would enjoy the chance to 'rub salt in the wound' before I summon Master Sanguini to announce the return of his prize. Should I move the tea downstairs?"

Disgust rose in him at the thought of having tea with Granger just to smear in the fact that she was going to be killed by a vampire when the sun set. "No. . ."

"Very well." Madam Hart walked out of the room. "She is in the second room down the left corridor, if you change your mind."

The wizard swallowed deeply, following a few paces behind the old woman. He walked down the steps to the ground floor, Madam Hart never turning back to look at him. She made for the kitchens, but Draco stopped. He turned, staring down the left corridor before taking a step toward it. He passed the first room and went straight to the second. There was a bolt above the knob. Draco slid it back.

When he opened the door, he half expected the witch to be standing behind it, raising a piece of furniture above her head to bring it down on him. Instead, he stared into the beige room to find a lump lying across the bed in a white night gown, half covered in blankets. She was on her side, her face pressed into the pillow and covered in curling tendrils of brown hair. Her hand was raised above her, crudely tied to the bed post.

Draco stared at her, somewhat dumbfounded as to what to do. He found himself standing beside the bed, looming over her. With a shaky hand, he reached down and brushed back her hair. Her skin was pale, almost as pale as he was on a regular basis, with only the tiniest flush of pink on her cheek and neck. Draco pulled at the line of her gown, staring at her collar bone. There was a scratch, reddened and scabbed, but, from what he could see, she was absent of bite marks on that side.

A sigh escape her partially opened mouth, and he jumped back. He let out a short chuckle at his own movement. A smirk played on his mouth when he saw that she looked quite ridiculous when she was asleep, her button nose caught on the fabric, upturned, and a slight bit of drool wetting her lower lip.

Her mouth shut as she let out a stifled yawn, her head lifting. Her eyes slowly opened, focusing on the most prominent figure before her, one Draco Malfoy.

The sleep left her within a millisecond. She was suddenly very alert.

"_Malfoy_," she breathed. Her eyes narrowed. "You sorry bastard—I should have known."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Draco raised a brow, taking a step back from the bed. He was not having a good day, or month for that matter, and he would not put up with a haughty little mudblood spitting out accusations.

"Granger, you would think that with brains like yours. . ."

"I don't want to hear it, Malfoy," she hissed, jerking forward with her chin raised. Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "Where am I? What did you do to me?"

"I didn't do a damned thing to you!" Draco growled, deciding at once that she was much easier to handle asleep. She and dragons had that in common. "As if I would even _touch _one hair on your filthy head. Now, shut it, Granger."

"How did I get here?" the witch snapped.

For a moment, Draco couldn't imagine her ever calling _him_ arrogant. Of course, she would most likely say that she was expressing her Gryffindor bravery by shouting like a bangee.

"Why don't you tell me?" Draco turned, walking back toward the door. _This was a mistake. What the bloody hell was I thinking coming down here? Maybe I should have taken that old bird's advice and gloated about her inevitable demise. _He looked over his shoulder at the young woman, feeling her gaze on his back. "What?" he sneered. "Is there something on my face?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but instead, she stared back at him, her eyes slowly widening as if in realization. She broke eye contact, looking down at her bare feet. "What happened to your neck?"

Draco's fingers lifted toward his collar, tugging at the fabric until it covered his fang pierced, reddened skin. He wanted to walk out the door, lock it behind him, but suddenly he couldn't leave. He was in a house, trapped with a loon of a maid and a blood sucking host, and Hermione Granger, enemy mudblood or not, was the only person who could possible help him get out of his current situation.

He stood at the room's center. "A vampire brought you to this house. Sanguini. Do you remember any of that, Granger?"

"I think so," she answered softly.

She was trying to remain civil, Draco realized. _Probably after using that famous intelligence of hers to realize that I had absolutely nothing to do with her kidnapping. _

"I was out late, coming home from the market. Mother had asked me to pick up a few things for supper. I went past the park and saw a couple on a bench, at least that's what I thought. But when I got closer, the man looked up, and I recognized him." She shook her head. "I remember pulling my wand, but obviously something went wrong. I don't remember anything else."

"He almost had you for a midnight snack," Draco spat.

"What?"

Draco almost admitted that he had accidentally saved her life, but he let that statement drop. _No, gloating. That's what that old bat wants you to do. _"The vampire who lives here decided to keep you for his own. His name's Darien. The housekeeper is Madam Hart."

"Keep me for his own!" Hermione shouted, her face flushed with outrage. "And what about you? You can't tell me that you're innocent in all this."

"You're mad," Draco hissed. _If she only knew. . . ._"I already told you that I had nothing to do with this."

Hermione frowned, attempting to cross her arms with no avail. "Oh? Then what are you doing here? You look as if this vampire's been using you as a keg of butterbeer. I guess that accounts for the rumors of your death."

"Rumors of my death? Is that some sort of joke?" Draco stomped across the room, standing at the foot of the bed.

"A few days ago the Daily Prophet had an article mentioning your assumed death. I don't know who their source was, but obviously they were mistaken," Hermione answered.

"Obviously."

"You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's none of your business."

"I'm making it my business, Malfoy."

Draco had never found retorts so tiring. Perhaps it was the 'late night partying' that he had unwillingly partaken in the past evening. Or, maybe, it was simply the low red blood cell count. Nevertheless, Draco was actually in the mood to give a straight answer to the witch, even if his civility was due to exhaustion.

However, he did not have to reply. There was a soft knock on the door and the knob turned to reveal Madam Hart standing on the other side, a crooked grin on her face.

"Hello, children. Forgive my interruption, but it's time for you to prepare for dinner. I will aid the young lady, Master Draco." Her grin broadened at the wizard. "I suggest you retire to your quarters for a few hours. Come along." She gestured at her side, and Draco followed her suggestion, walking out of the room without giving Granger another glance.

"What we were discussing earlier. . ." he began, stopping behind the old muggle.

Madame Hart patted his arm, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Oh, don't fret over decision making, deary. That's to be discussed over dinner. The Master will be joining you this evening."

Draco stepped past her, onto the staircase, quickly walking to his room.

"Dinner with the vampire," he hissed.

_I wonder if Granger's on the menu._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Hunger.

It drove nature and mankind equally, a force that could lead any being to soulless insanity. Draco knew as much, and he could guess that such knowledge would be especially important when the hunger in question was a vampire's for warm blood.

Draco had no appetite, even though he hadn't eaten in several hours. Nevertheless he felt his stomach churning, heard its unpleasant groans as he fidgeted in his seat, anxiously looking out his window. Daylight was fading, quickly. It would be dinner time soon. A meal with a vampire. A meal with Hermione Granger. A last supper, for someone.

The wizard shook his head, cursing as a long strand of blond hair insisted on falling out of place and hanging in front of his eye. He let out a frustrated growl, standing quickly. Without realizing it, he was rubbing his neck, a habit his mother often displayed when she was distressed; however, Draco's fingers did not just grace soft flesh but scabs. A primitive, childish part of him wanted to scrape them off.

The sound of footsteps stopped him from scratching the wounds. He turned, glancing at the door just as a soft knock sounded from outside.

"Go away," he snapped. "I'm not going."

He let out a shaky breath. _Yes, disobey the 'master', Draco. Wonderful move._

"Malfoy?"

The door opened slowly, cautiously. Hermione's face appeared, a strangely curious expression on her face.

"Not much a point to knocking, is there?" Draco sneered, but his tone didn't back the sarcasm.

His eyes swept over the young woman in front of him in wonder. _Look what a bit of polish does_, he thought, raising a brow at the full, elaborate gold gown she was wearing. The metallic shade brought his gaze up to her creamy skin, a cool complement to the warm curls pulled up behind her head and cascading over her collar.

"Malfoy?" she said.

Draco blinked, looking away from her somewhat abashed. He clenched his jaw, angry that he had taken time to appraise her like an object. _What the bloody hell was that about?_ He reached up, adjusting his top button before looking back at her.

"A bit much isn't it?" he said, gesturing in her general direction as he paced around her, once again attempting to hold his hair out of his face.

She pursed her lips, crossing her arms defensively. "I didn't pick this out, thank you. Though I'm sure you chose that gaudy little number you're wearing."

"Gaudy? You're mental." Draco rolled his eyes. "Is there a reason why you're up here?" He noted the red marks around her wrist. "And free? Did they decide to let the dog out of its cage for the evening?"

"You're such a prick," Hermione hissed, her jaw raising as if expecting a retort. When it didn't come, she continued. "Hart sent me up to fetch you. Apparently it's time for dinner. You're supposed to escort me back down." She paused, staring at the wizard in front of her. "What's going to happen tonight?"

Draco shrugged. "We should go downstairs. He'll probably be waiting for us." He walked behind her, out of the bedroom.

Hermione turned on her heels, grabbing hold of his sleeve. "This isn't a game, Malfoy! No, matter what this vampire thinks, I'm not going to be some plaything—not like you so obviously are. . . .So, tell me, what happens when we go down there?"

"I expect we eat, Granger. What the hell do you do want to hear from me?" Draco scoffed. "Do you want me to tell you how he's going to suck every last drop of blood out of your body? Do you want me to tell you that you're the main course?"

He broke off, staring into the witch's wide, honey eyes. The color washed out of her skin, and she took a step away from him.

"But that's not the truth," Draco continued. "The truth is that I could be the one on the menu for all I know. Or maybe the bloody bastard just has a fetish for watching humans eat. I don't know. So stop asking me already."

He found the stairs, quickly making his way down. Draco looked back up when he reached the ground floor, seeing Hermione still a few steps from the top, face downcast. "Are you coming, Granger?" he asked.

The wizard waited for her to meet him before walking toward the dining area. Madam Hart was standing at the entrance way, hands fold in front of her and a sweet, welcoming smile on her face. She stepped out of the way so that the two could pass. A long, candlelit table awaited them, four places set.

"The master will be up shortly, children," she said, gesturing for Hermione to take a seat at the table's center and directing Draco to the opposite chair directly across from the witch. Empty wine classes waited in front of the two unclaimed seats, at each end of the table.

"You are to behave until he arrives—no squabbling." The old woman patted Hermione's shoulder gently. "I cooked up something very nice for the two of you. If you're polite, I may be able to sneak you seconds in desert." She gave Draco a wink and left them.

"Do you think he has her under a spell?" Hermione asked, leaning across her setting.

"Hart?" Draco shook his head. "I think she's sincerely dedicated to Darien. I don't know why—could be because she's as mad as a hatter."

"She's not the one dining with us, is she?" Hermione glanced down the table at the other chair. "I wonder who else this vampire's bringing. Is there anyone else in the house? Or do you think it's. . . .?"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Draco snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you that I don't have the damn answers?"

The witch glared at the young man, sitting up straight and proper. "You would think that, in our current situation, you'd at least be somewhat civil."

"Do you forget who you're talking to?" Draco growled, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're Potter's little girlfriend—this is civil for us. For someone so smart, you're one stupid mudblood sometimes."

"_Enough."_

Draco turned, almost falling out of his seat in surprise. Darien stood at the entryway, eyes dancing over the wizard. "There's no need for such language, Draco," the vampire said, gliding across the room.

Hermione was staring up at him mouth agape. Darien reached down, taking her hand and running his lips over her knuckles. He smiled softly, the smallest hint of fangs showing over his pale pink lips.

"Hermione," he said, watching the young woman stiffen at the sound of his voice. "I'm so pleased that you could join us. Brute gentlemen such as ourselves do not deserve to be graced with the presence of such a delicate flower."

Draco bit his lip—talking back to Darien would do him no good. Nevertheless, he gave Hermione a shaking glance that seemed to remind her that it was vampire kissing her hand, that that look in his piercing eyes was not lust but hunger.

Hermione pulled away. "Thank you," she said, her cheeks flushed, "but it's not as if I had much of a choice."

Darien bowed his head apologetically, making his way to his seat. "Forgive me for holding you, an unwilling guest. I assure you that the present situation is not a permanent one, but, perhaps it is one that you should enjoy while you still can." He let out a quiet laugh as he watched her lips part. "I'm sorry—that sounded like a threat on your life, I suppose. It was not meant as one."

Madam Hart reentered the room with two platters balanced on one arm, a bottle of wine in the other hand. She sat the drink before her master, a plate in front of the wizard and witch. "My lord, is there anything else you'll require."

"Thank you, Melissa, but no. We require only privacy for the time."

Hart arched her neck, gracefully making her way out.

Darien poured his own glass, crisp red wine filling it to the brim. He stood, walking over to Draco. He bent over the wizard, topping off the young man's glass. "I must say," he said in an obvious stage whisper, "you have quite the taste in ladies, my dragon."

"Granger went to school with me. She's nothing," Draco said.

Darien grinned, wrapping a hand around the back of Draco's neck. "I would not say that now," he said, squeezing.

Draco wincing, grinding his teeth at the sudden pain.

"Stop it!"

The vampire released him, a frown on his face as he looked at the young witch now standing with the knife off of her plate pointed at him. "Leave him alone. You can't do this to people—he's not yours."

"I must make yet another apology to you, Hermione," the vampire said, slowly stepping away from the wizard. "You'll have to forgive my bluntness. Draco is mine. His life is mine to take—but I wish him no such harm. He is property, and one rarely destroys his own property. I only wish him to understand . . . Obedience."

Darien took one step, leaping over the table, landing upright beside the young witch and grabbing hold of her wrists. She dropped the knife, crying out in surprise. But, instead of fighting back, she stood still, eyes locked on the vampire's. Her body froze, limbs limp.

"What did you do to her?" Draco asked, swallowing as he watched her sway slightly, as if ready to collapse.

"I'm going to teach you something, Draco," Darien said. His eyes remained on Hermione. When he pulled his gaze away, Draco saw that they were red stained and glazed in a metallic sheen. "There are old tricks to make a mortal fold their will. They do not always work, and victims often build a tolerance to them. Now, Draco, you will stay seated. You will not move unless I tell you to. You will not speak unless spoken to."

Draco's fists clenched. "And what if I don't feel like being obedient?"

A look of amusement passed over Darien's features. "Remember what happened to the old man when you disobeyed me?"

The wizard froze, staring in front of him. Would he kill her just to prove a point? Draco answered that question with the declaration that the being in front of him was not a sane human, but a vampire.

"I see you understand me," Darien said.

He pulled Hermione in front of him, the back of her body against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling against her hair until she bent her head to the side, the flesh of her neck exposed. Darien kissed it softly, one of his hands pushing below her breast, the other resting casually on her hip.

"I'm going to show you what it is to have my power, Draco," Darien said, staring at the young man. "A vampire does not kill, per se: he feeds. He takes blood—you know that much. But there are so many other things a body can provide us with."

Draco looked away as the vampire slid his hand up over the witch's abdomen, grinding his body into her back. Hermione let out a soft gasp, her head rolling back against Darien's shoulder. Draco glanced back, his face torn between disgust and curiosity.

"Don't be ashamed, boy," Darien said. "In this house there is no shame. There is pain and there is pleasure, but no shame, not yet. She can not hear me or see me. This girl does not know where she is or what I am doing to her. She is trapped within her own mind. It feels like a dream, quickly fading. She knows the emotions, but she can't know why she is feeling them." The vampire smiled bending down to nibble at her ear, tongue darting out to taste her skin.

"Why are you doing that?" Draco snapped.

"For pleasure." Darien ran his hand back down to her thighs, his long fingers softly testing the spot where her legs met, as smooth as the silk of her dress, his caresses pushing a moan out from between her lips. "It is why I exist." He pressed his palm over that sensitive area, the boney mound of Venus beneath his thump tracing it in slow, circular motions that bunched up her skirt and forced her to shake in anticipation.

"I can't watch this." Draco could hear his own teeth grinding as he held his jaw tight. He took a shallow breath, pushing his chair away from the table. "I'm not staying for this, damn it!" He walked around the table, keeping his eyes on the exit.

"Do you want me to kill her?"

The wizard stopped, looking over his shoulder at the vampire. Darien was sitting Hermione down into her chair. The vampire strode across the room, standing against the wizard and wrapping an arm around his shoulders to direct his attention to the young woman. He leaned in closely, his nose almost touching Draco's cheek.

"Do you want me to kill her?" the vampire asked again.

Draco closed his eyes, feeling Darien's lips closing in on the bulge of muscle below his ear. This was no lover's kiss, the wizard knew, but he could not pull away, even as the vampire's teeth teasingly brushed against his skin.

"Do you?"

"No," Draco breathed. "You can't kill her."

"Can I not? I thought she was just a stupid mudblood." Darien pulled away, brow raised. " Tell me, dragon, were you tempted? Did you want her?"

"I don't. . . I didn't mean. . . ."

Darien let out a light chuckle. "No shame, remember?" He took a step back, a hand raised in Hermione's direction. "Pour the lady a glass, Draco."

The vampire was in his chair, his wine raised before the wizard had time to move. "I do hope you enjoy your meal, Hermione."

The witch blinked, the link between her and the vampire severed in an instant. She looked about, brow scrunched in confusion as she noticed Draco approaching her, reaching across for the wine bottle and topping off her glass.

"What happened?"

Darien cocked his head. "What do you think happened, my dear?" he asked.

Draco glared at him, making his way back to his own seat with the wine bottle in tow. The vampire only smirked.

"I don't know. . . ." Hermione answered, shaking her head as if to rattle loose a memory that wouldn't budge.

"How odd," Darien commented.

Madam Hart walked through the entrance. "Master Sanguini has arrived, my lord."

Darien stood, eyeing his young guests. "Very good, Madam. Show him in."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Show him in," the vampire said, dismissing Madam Hart.

Draco felt his body tense as he tried to push the rage he felt back down, burying it deep within the dungeons of his mind. Yet, he could still feel the heat off of his cheeks, a reminder of the shame. No matter what the vampire said, he knew that simply _not_ speaking, not fighting for the honor of that girl in front of him was wrong. . . . . But was anything in this place "right"?

_Why the hell should I care about Darien's threats? Why should I care about that mudblood's life at all? _

Hermione caught his eye from across the table. She seemed somewhat dazed, but now the witch was watching him, an almost dreamy expression in her gaze. A shallow breath escaped from between her lips, and Draco froze at the soft sound.

_Merlin, I hope she doesn't remember. Please, don't let her remember what he did to her. . . ._

"Are you alright, Malfoy?" she asked, her voice quiet.

"I. . . ."

"He's a bit flushed from the heat," Darien answered for him, his tone as calm and controlling as ever. "Poor, boy. Must be a water dragon, mustn't he, Miss Granger? Playing with fire wears him out so. . . ."

Hermione gave the vampire a cautious glance, leaving his comment in the air.

"I disagree," came a reply from the doorway.

Sanguini walked into the dining area, without even giving his host a greeting, crossing over to the opposite side of the table. The vampire slumped down, somewhat less graceful than most of his brethren would have, leaning back into his chair as if he was a drunk. But his eyes stayed on Draco throughout his almost childish display of absent manners.

Physically, Sanguini appeared to look somewhat similar to Darien, the same dark beauty, the same radiating strength and power, but Sanguini lacked that cool unpredictability that made him so frightening. Likewise, this other vampire showed no seductive charm, no patience, no ticking clocks in his eyes. And his hate, it appeared, was worn on his sleeve.

_I wish I knew exactly what it was I did to piss that bastard off_, the wizard pondered, though, he had a good idea that it involved Darien's little party.

Finally, breaking contact with Draco, Sanguini looked up to the head of the table where Darien sat, a polite, dangerous smile on his face.

"I think your boy would sink in water—a theory of mine that I have been meaning to try out."

"Perhaps another time," Darien answered, quietly. He watched the vampire in silence for a moment more before gesturing to the wizard at his side. "Draco, would you please pour Mr. Sanguini a glass of wine? He seems quite parched."

The wizard gave his 'master' a look of distaste, a wave of rage still burning deep within his eyes. Nevertheless, he stood, bottle in hand and walked down to the end of the table, not bothering to look at the vampire as he poured the glass.

Sanguini stood slightly, his copper-scented mouth too close for comfort. "I am a bit hungry, Darien," he said into the young man's face. "Why don't I just take what I came for and please my tongue with my own brew?"

Draco clenched his jaw, inadvertently sloshing wine onto the table as he quickly rose up, backing away from the vampire. "What exactly did you come for?" the wizard snapped, feeling a bit of his pureblood pride showing.

"A dinner with an old friend," Darien answered. "Sit down, dragon. Don't be rude."

"Rude?" Draco spit.

Darien's eyes lit with crimson specks, but he made no direct movements, as still as an old cat on his favorite cushion. "Do as I say."

"Perhaps you should get your pet dragon a leash?" Sanguini drawled, spitting his words at the other vampire. "Or a cage. But I don't care what the boy does, or what you do to your boy. . . .You know I don't care for you company. Just give me what is mine, Darien, and I will be gone, out of your little plaything's hair."

"Oh, I forgot to mention, Sanguini. . . ." Darien released a grin, his long canines showing like tiny pearls pressing into his lower lip. "There has been a change of plans. I am afraid that I will be keeping the girl after all. My dragon seems to have decided to stick with his original declaration. I'm sure you understand—humans are so fickle."

Draco raised a brow at Darien's statement, but it was Hermione who slammed an open hand on the table, her fire returning in an instant. "What are you talking about?" she said, her lips tightly pursed. "I'm no ones to _keep_!"

"What the hell do you mean, Darien?" Sanguini shouted, interrupting her. He leaned onto the table on both arms, eyes swimming in crimson, upper lip drawn like an animal's. "Is this a game to you? Is it? I'll show you what it means to play your betters," he growled.

"You will not," Darien said, casually crossing his legs. "I never promised to give you the witch back . . . In fact, I wonder why you are so very desperate to have her? She must have blood like warm honey for you to come back to my manor. Of course, there is another answer . . . By chance, did you lie to Madam Holly? I thought you said that your master did not know about this one?"

He glanced over at Hermione's enraged form. Somehow the girl was managing to hold her tongue, for the moment at least.

Sanguini snarled at the statement. "You question my honor."

Darien laughed, tapping his long fingers on the table top, as if bored. "Honor? Oh, Sanguini, after all this time, you still know how to make the most appealing jests. You lied to Holly and Annalisa, did you not? You went bragging to your Dark Lord about your catch, and he told you to bring the witch to him—quit salivating, fool, you will never taste her blood, whether I give her to you or not."

Darien sat up suddenly, straight and menacing. "But I have a solution. Perhaps we should ask her whom she would prefer to stay with—like a pup licking its favorite master? Miss Granger, would you like to surrender yourself to the one known as Lord Voldemort or stay here, as my guest?"

Hermione's mouth dropped open in surprise at the question.

Draco snarled, memories of his time spent under the Dark Lord's punishment filling his head. He shouted out an answer before the witch could speak. "You can't let the Dark Lord have her! Tell this bastard to shove off!"

The wizard's head snapped back before he was even aware of the vampire behind him. Sanguini had moved like lightning, grabbing Draco by the hair and yanking him onto his toes until his neck was bare. He had a finger pressed against the young man's flesh, pressing into the pale skin.

"Give me the girl, or I'll take your dragon instead," Sanguini sneered, his jagged nail drawing blood.

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Draco cried, clawing at the vampire's hand. "Let go!"

"Calm yourself, Sanguini," Darien said, almost in a yawn, leaning over on the arm of his chair, eyes half lidded as if the ordeal was enough to put him to sleep. "You continue to prove Miss Granger's value to me, with ever desperate move, every word you say. I would never relinquish her to you now—in fact, if I wished it, I could take her directly to the source, have the Dark Lord owe me even more favors. That alone is worth a dozen more dragons."

"A bluff," Sanguini accused. He let another moment pass, a deep, guttural sound of discontent issuing out of his throat. "But if what you say is true than I should at least take something from this evening. This little brat will do fine."

Draco felt the vampire's grip move to his side, pinching flesh as his supernatural strength lifted the wizard off of the ground. All the breath left the young man's body as he was flung across the room. He crashed into the wall, his torso shattering a portrait's glass cover, his head cracking against plaster. He fell to a heap, gasping at the pain wracking threw his pummeled body.

And, in under a second, Sanguini was standing over him, crouching low, a jagged piece of the frame in one hand, slicing into the soft flesh of Draco's forehead, down his eye brow, past his eye, across his pale cheek. The wizard screamed in agony as the glass sliced into him like butter, warm blood flowing into his line of sight. Hermione's cries echoed his own, but the wizard could only hear himself, his own agony from his ribs to his crown, all of it crushing him into oblivion.

"Will you keep him? An ugly Dragon?" Sanguini hissed.

As suddenly as he had appeared, the vampire was gone again.

Draco's voice left him, his head lolling to the size. He saw Darien throwing Sanguini onto the table behind him, a piece of wood, the arm of his chair, posed high over the foul vampire's chest. There was shouting, movement so quick that the wizard couldn't keep up.

Draco was barely aware of another figure, blurring as his vision faded, the distinct form of a woman, collapsing beside him, her soft hand against his stinging face. She asked him a question, hysterical, but he couldn't answer, his eyes rolling back into his head as darkness met him.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

_"Dragon."_

_Darien was staring down at him, mouth parted softly. There was blood on his lip and matching red stains on his fangs. He wasn't moving, but his body was a blur, in and out of Draco's reality. The vampire let his lips curve upward, a smile at his foolish servant._

_Draco groaned. His face was hot, so hot, especially the right side. There was a coppery taste in his mouth, too, and he wondered if it was his own blood or Darien's. It didn't matter, though. This was a dream, just a dream. He was sleeping in his bed at Malfoy manor, having nightmares as his mother cried in another room, a whole wing down from him. _

_A dream._

_"You are more trouble than you are worth, dragon," Darien whispered. The vampire held out his wrist. The skin was torn, dripping crimson onto Draco's cheek. "We will be forced to move faster now. Voldemort will be upset with what I did to his lapdog, I think." _

_He laughed, rain drops in a shallow stream, running through a desert. _

"Malfoy!" He heard an anxious sigh and felt a hand cautiously squeezing his shoulder. "Draco? Wake up, you skinny little ferret!"

The wizard groaned, letting one eye lid lift. "Skinny?" he said, his voice hoarse and gravelly.

The girl sitting next to him stood up quickly. "Yes! Skinny—and not attractively so!" Hermione snapped, fuming.

Draco's lazy gaze scanned her form. She was dressed in a modest night gown that reached her ankles, so pale pink that it almost matched her bare shoulder's perfectly, and her hair was loosely hanging in thick waves. _How bloody long was I out? _Draco wondered, refusing to ask the witch.

"Were you faking that whole time?" Hermione asked, her voice losing some of its bite.

"Ferret—not a possum, idiot." Draco began to roll over onto his side and cried out at a sharp pain through his chest. He took a shallow breath into his blanket, clenching his teeth and attempting to sit up instead.

"Don't! You're not nearly ready to get out of bed!" Hermione shouted, putting a hand on his chest to ease him back down onto the mattress. The witch released him as soon as his head hit the pillow again, as if the touch of his skin had burnt her.

Her hand had been so hot against his chill skin, and he suddenly, shamefully, missed the warmth. He shrugged off the thought, blaming it on his lack of a shirt. A glance down showed him that someone had taken the time to wrap his ribs in tight bandages. His mark was on his arm as well, even lighter in color than it was the day the vampire bound him; if Hermione saw it, she made no comment.

"What is your bloody problem?" Draco said, glaring in her direction. "And what the hell happened?"

"You don't remember?"

Draco growled. "Last time I checked, I didn't have the ability to see through my eye lids. What happened after Sanguini decided to intimately introduce me to the wall?"

"Oh, of course. . . ."

The witch turned from him slightly, somewhat sheepish. Draco raised a brow, wondering why she was suddenly so distant. With her round arms hugging her breasts against her chest, she was locked up tight. Then memories of the evening came flooding back to him, and he felt a wave of anger pass over him. He struggled to suppress it.

"Tell me that bastard vampire got his," Draco urged, instead of asking her if _she _remembered what happened. _She's not supposed to. . . .Darien said she wouldn't—but he's a damned vampire. Who can trust him?_ "Did he turn to ash? I've always read that they look like normal corpses after they're destroyed, but rumor has it. . . ."

"Darien didn't stake him, Malfoy," Hermione hissed, looking over her shoulder at the wizard. She gave him a small, bitter smile. "He did beat him to a pulp though. It will take Sanguini a while to heal, even with the unique abilities of a vampire. Malfoy, did you know that Darien was a wizard, back when, when he was alive?"

Draco was thrown off by the sudden change of topic. "I assumed as much, but I never saw him use magic. And Hart's a muggle . . ."

"Never mind. . ." she interrupted, shaking her head. "Anyhow Darien threw Sanguini out the door and came back into the dining room. He . . . he picked you up and took you downstairs," she said softly, her voice far away. "I . . . I didn't know exactly what he was going to do to you. Hart came and prepared me for bed. A few hours later I heard Darien walking up the stairs. He was carrying you, so . . ." She broke off. "So I came up a while later. It's almost dawn now."

Draco blinked. "And?" He sat up straighter when she didn't answer. "You thought he'd turned me, didn't you? You thought he'd made me into one of his kind . . . What were you going to do, Granger? Put a piece of wood through my heart?"

She remained silent before turning back to face him. In two strides she was bending over him, a hand at the base of his neck, running her finger tips over the bite marks. Draco winced, realizing that she was touching a separate set, a fresh set.

"How many times has he bitten you?" she asked through clenched teeth. Her honey eyes were bouncing over him. "Was he the only one to bite you? Have you drunk any of his blood?"

Draco slapped her hand away without a second thought. "What is your bloody problem, Granger? I'm not a vampire . . . You saw the mark earlier."

"I know—he obviously used wand magic to heal you, but vampires, wizards turned into vampires, at least, have other powers, too . . ."

"Get to the point, Granger. Any student knows that their blood heals. And as for their bite," Draco began.

"There's a new one!" Hermione accused, interrupting him. "And the other one is worn, ragged and open. You've got a smaller one on your other side too—why are you letting this vampire use you as a human keg? Don't you know what can happen from extreme blood loss—and that the effects of vampire bites sometimes stay with victims for their entire lives? Even if they've never tasted blood, they exhibit. . . ."

"Well, shit, Granger! I'm so happy you're in the mood to share! Make the vampire quit feeding? What a novel concept!" Draco shouted, livid. He held his ribs as they ached from the strain. "Why! Now that you bring it up, I think I'll go downstairs and tell the nice blood sucking beast that I'd rather not be on the menu tonight. Thank you so much for telling me before something unhealthy happened—my fucking mudblood heroine."

"I was just trying to tell you how dangerous this is!"

"I know!"

Hermione didn't reply, instead staring at him with a heavy, lidded gaze that showed pity. "You're an arse, Malfoy. But you saved me. I know. . . ." She paused, her lip trembling slightly. Furiously, she bit it, her expression hardening. "I know what you did, that you saved me from Sanguini. And you tried to again last night. I just . . . I wanted to help you in return."

"I didn't save you," Draco seethed. "If I had, you wouldn't still be in this damned house, now would you?" He shook his head, frustrated. "Granger. . . Just go away. I'm tired."

Hermione gave him a curt nod, her lips pursed as if there was something she wanted to say. Instead she left his room, slamming the door behind her.

"Stupid bloody woman," Draco groaned. _Woman?__ Wrong word—if she was a woman, then that would make me a man. And I'm not feeling the least bit manly at the moment. _

A rapping knock brought his head up. Madam Hart entered, end first, holding a tray between her. She grinned brightly, the wrinkles in her face folding.

"Good Morning, Master Draco . . . I thought you might be ready for an early start after seeing the young miss leaving your room. I do believe you missed the delicious dinner I prepared last night."

Draco rolled his eyes. Nevertheless, he was painfully aware of his rumbling stomach begging for the sausages on the tray before him.

Hart topped off his juice glass and took a step back, hands folded in front of her stomach. She watched him dig into his plate, a little hum issuing from beyond her closed lips. Her grin widened when Draco spit the meat back into his napkin, a look of disgust on his face.

"It's rotted!" Draco spat, grimacing.

"I assure you, it's quite fresh," Hart said in her sing-song voice. "Perhaps your taste is a bit off, Master Dragon."

_Dragon . . . Copper on his tongue—delicious . . . _

Draco released a shallow breath. "Th-that's probably it."

"You should drink your juice though, to gather your strength," Hart continued. "By lunch, you should be ready for something solid." She picked up the plate of food. "Do stay in bed, young one. You need rest."

And she was gone in an instant, as if she'd never been there. Draco shook his head, listening as her footsteps sounded from further and further away.

"Damn know-it-all," the wizard muttered, moving the tray and sliding out of bed. "I wouldn't ask her if it wasn't a last resort," he assured himself.

Quickly, he snatched a shirt hanging off the wardrobe door and quietly stepped out of his room, clothing himself as he walked to the stair case. His bare feet made it easy to sneak down the steps without much noise. He reached her room, not bothering to knock as he swung open the door.

"Fine, Granger, tell me about the vampire victims," he snapped.

Draco blinked, only then realizing that he was speaking to an empty room. _Where the hell did she go?_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

_Where the hell did she go?_

Draco glared at the room, as if it had somehow greatly offended him. But it was just a room, empty and alone as the one he had left upstairs.

"Granger?" he asked, glancing behind the door before staring idly, his head peeking through the open doorway.

The bed caught his eye, and he raised a brow at the flesh-pink nightgown draped over its elegant foot—was that not the same gown that Granger had been wearing a few minutes ago? It was not the clothing, though, that disturbed him; it was the perfectly made bed sitting center, cover smoothed out to fit neat, folded corners.

The morning was still young, and Draco somehow doubted that Madam Hart had stopped to tidy up the room at such an early hour. Had Granger even slept in her bed? If not there, then where? he wondered.

For reasons unbeknownst to him, he clenched his hands into hard fists, nails digging into flesh. Perhaps Darien had given the witch different quarters. Perhaps the vampire had given her his bed . . . Draco wasn't sure why this thought bothered him. He had already seen her defenses fail at the pull of Darien's powerful will, but, that time at least, Darien had seduced her for Draco's benefit, to teach him a lesson. Or, at least, that was Draco had believed. . .

He wasn't sure why he cared. It didn't matter where she slept. . .

No, scratch that—it mattered greatly. If Darien was paying that much attention to her, than Draco could all but kiss any chance of using the witch as a means to escape the manor goodbye. If she was that far into the vampire's _thrall_, she would probably be of no real use to him. Not that he certain she'd be of use to him in her normal state.

Perhaps his worries were unfounded. After all, she may not have slept for another reason. She might have been telling the truth earlier—she may very well have stayed up all evening, waiting to see if he was alright.

"I did save her bloody life," he rationalized, "not that I'm telling her about that . . . Unless, by chance, I can use it against her." Draco smirked. It wasn't the worst idea he'd had so far. In fact, it was a far cry from his current system of back-talking the vampire while simultaneously obeying his_ master's_ every beck and call.

"Master Dragon?"

The wizard quickly turned, almost falling against the doorframe in his haste. Madam Hart stood behind him, another covered breakfast platter and pitcher in her willowy, blue-veined arms.

"Down so soon?" she asked, a smile dancing in her clear eyes.

Draco's face flushed. She had heard him, talking to himself. Of course, the wizard wasn't really sure if that was the reason for the humor on the old woman's face.

"You're feeling better, I presume." It was not a question. The old woman nodded, nevertheless, acting as if she had received an answered. "Perhaps you could eat a bite of breakfast with your little friend then?"

"We're not friends. . . " his mouth closed, catching the bait the muggle had strung. "You know where Granger is?"

"Why of course! I thought you knew—she's in the library again."

"Library?"

"Oh, yes. . . You weren't around for that. . ." Hart's thin lips curved, her eyes darting in reflection. "The young miss was in a dreadful state last night. The Master had me direct her to the library to keep her occupied. If I may say, she has quite the love for the written word, that one does."

"How bloody typical is that?" Draco muttered, wearing the ghost of sneer. "Bloating that overstuffed brain of hers while others are off suffering . . ." he broke off.

Madam Hart release a girlish giggle that stretched her wrinkles across her face. "Am I to understand that the young miss will be staying on with us then? It is, after all, a decision the Master has left up to you, even after Master Sanguini's telling performance last night."

_Staying on with us . . ._ Draco swallowed hard.

The old woman used the phrase so casually, knowing that if he were to resist the idea, that it would mean Granger's life. Draco didn't like the way this muggle played with him, the way her grin held a certain threat. But what truly made his skin crawl was the little nod at the end of her smile, the one that assured him that the threat was not really directed toward the witch. It was his life on the line, Draco was certain, and Madam Hart knew as much, and more.

"Why don't you take her breakfast, Master Dragon?" Hart held out the tray. "A meal before you meet with the master will do you good—you'll find the girl at the end of the hall."

"Wait—what? Meet with Darien. . ."

"Will call when he's ready for you," the woman finished.

"But it's day out."

"The Master will call you when he's ready for you," Hart repeated.

Draco took the tray from her, recoiling at the feel of her damp, paper skin touching his hands. Hart released her grin slightly, promptly turning on her heel, her wandering fingers adjusting the back of her apron. She was humming as she walked, and Draco could still hear that mock music when he stomped off down the corridor, juice spilling over a curved rim onto his sleeve when he came to a quick stop in front of tall double doors.

The wizard had seen the doors earlier. For some reason, he had assumed that they held the basement stairs, that they led to Darien's chambers. Obviously, he was wrong.

He kicked his bare foot at the door, refusing to sit down his load and turn the handle. The sound was muffled, and he was posed to deliver a second blow when one door cracked open.

"Will you take this bloody thing?" Draco spat at Hermione's confused face.

Hermione wrinkled her brow in surprise, closing the book in her hands and tucking it under one arm as she lifted the tray from Draco's hands. "Thanks," she murmured, softly, stepping back out of the door so that the wizard could enter.

"Well, I was planning breakfast in bed. . . Oh, please, Granger—that old hag made me bring that, completely ignoring my injuries, of course. No courtesy at all," Draco rambled, shoving past her as he wiped the sticky remains of orange juice onto his pants. He gave the grand room a once over, taking in the long, shelf-lined walls, a thousand worn spines as their decoration. "This is the library then? A bit small."

"Small?" Hermione sat the meal onto a decorative table, her mouth open as if to counter his statement. The library was at least a fifth the size of Hogwarts', and all this was just for one man . . . vampire. She seemed to let his haughty statement go with a shake of her head. "What are you doing out of bed, Malfoy? You're supposed to be recovering."

"Why did he let you in here, anyhow?" Draco mused, ignoring her. He stepped forward, gently lowering himself into a soft, wide-backed mahogany chair, enjoying the smooth touch of fine leather. Darien had some semblance of taste, Draco had to admit.

"You didn't answer me, Malfoy."

"It really doesn't make sense," he continued, relaxing back. "He could have just had that insane old bird lock you back up for the night. Instead, you're wondering about as if this is some sort of shabby inn."

"Perhaps he rewards civility," Hermione snapped, crossing her arms.

_Still pissed about that 'fucking mudblood heroine bit', I see. _

Draco frowned. "I had a question for you," he began.

"And you've never seen the library? How long have you been here, anyhow?" Hermione interrupted.

"Could we keep on track here, Granger."

"You're the one who. . ."

"Anyhow," Draco drawled, "upstairs you mentioned something about vampire victims suffering adverse effects. Exactly how much you do know about vampires, Granger?"

The witch raised a brow, plopping down onto a stool. "There's what I learned in school—what you should have learned. I did a bit of outside study in fifth-year, ironically after Sanguini's visit." The floor at her feet was stacked with books, some of which were open, their places marked. She glanced down at them in acknowledgment of their contents. "So you're here to what, quiz me? I thought you were content with being a vampire's plaything."

Draco leaned forward. "If I'm his plaything, then why are you the one exploring his library?" He released a bitter huff at her indignant expression. "That's what I thought," he added.

"Reading his book collection does not place my life at risk—that's a completely different matter!" she snapped. "And I'll have you know that I've been gathering valuable information."

_Being in this house puts your life at risk, stupid._

"Yes, I'm sure Darien led you to the treasure trove that would spell his destruction—I doubt any of these books would be of any use to you, especially since he gave you permission to read them. It wouldn't make much sense for him to lead the cow to the hole in the fence, now would it?"

"I'll disregard that analogy because of your current physical state—but you are an idiot, Malfoy! Of course Darien didn't give me the _How to Kill a Vampire_ handbook, but he's allowing me to read these other works because he believes I won't be able to use the information within them. Actually, I expect he wants me to share some of these books with you."

"What do mean?"

Hermione picked a thick volume up off of the floor. "You were asking about vampire victims. There are stories in this book, about victims. . . The vampire can choose how a mortal serves them, whether as a simple day keeper or as some mindless creature."

"I somehow doubt he's in need of some gentleman's gentleman, though a house elf might do him some good. . ."

"Malfoy, you're bound to him." Hermione's voice was tight, as if was having a hard time making it to her mouth. "Do you even know what that means?"

Draco didn't like where this was going. "More than you, I venture."

"I don't think you know everything."

He expected her to continue. She didn't.

Hermione slumped forward, staring numbly at him. Draco didn't like the look in her eyes. He'd seen it in his mother's, when she'd found that he was being asked to take the Dark Mark. He didn't know how the witch in front of him was able to duplicate it so well.

"Well?"

"You're his, Draco," she said softly.

"I knew that much."

"You're his until he dies, or you do. . . Magic can't break what holds you."

Draco wasn't surprised. This is what Darien had implied. Yet it felt so very different, hearing it from Hermione's mouth, from another source. He suddenly felt bare, as if she knew that he had some sort of disgusting illness.

_"Dragon. . ."_

He stood up on weak knees. "You're breakfast is getting cold, Granger."

"Malfoy? What's wrong?"

Draco didn't answer, instead walking toward the doors.

_"Come to me, Dragon. . ." _

He knew Granger hadn't hear d that the voice. After all, it was _his_ master calling, not hers.

**End Notes: And now I'm back, from outerspace. . . Yes, I am back, as is this story. Sorry, old readers, for the wait. Expect another chapter soon (sorry if this came out as a filler). **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The door was narrow, next to a spare bath on the floor level of the manor. It was much too narrow to belong to a bedroom. It looked like it led to a linen closet. Yet that was the door he opened.

_"Downstairs, Dragon."_

And it was the right door.

Draco took the stairs slowly, one shoulder hugging the tight wall. He didn't want to hurry. He didn't want to go down into the dark at all, but, more so, he wanted to be rid of the voice. That meant obeying. That meant traveling into the mock night. That meant meeting the vampire.

_"Come inside."_

The young wizard nodded to himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs. There was only one door to choose from. Light flickered through the space at the bottom of the entry. Draco touched a hand to the knob, and it turned of its own accord, as if in recognition.

The light came from globed torches, their fire safely kept inside glass that never blackened. They were on either side of the entrance but there was no more light deep within. In fact, he room was barely bright enough for Draco to make out Darien's form lying atop a wide, high bed, dressed in the same rich clothing he'd worn to meet Sanguini. The vampire's eyes were closed.

_"See how I trust you, my Dragon?" _

Draco took a step forward, awkwardly. The voice had been too loud that time and his head was beginning to throb. He pushed to block his thoughts, as well as those which threatened to invade his mind, Darien's voice. This much the wizard had picked up from a certain aunt—mind tricks were nothing to be feared.

When Draco did not hear another response from the vampire, he glanced around the room, looking back at the globed fire. Fire. That could prove useful. He could very well. . . No, he couldn't. Darien would have him in a minute. "Trust," he had said. But the vampire knew that Draco could make no move against him, at least not one that would cause his downfall.

When he turned back, the vampire was sitting up, his feet planted on the floor, staring ahead.

"What do you want?" Draco said, not liking the silence.

"Your wound is healing nicely," Darien stated, his slicing gaze on the young man's swollen face. "Pitty. It was a beautiful scar. At least you will be able to keep the ones upon your neck. Our bites never fully heal, you know. It is the magic within us which sustains them, gives them a glimpse of eternity."

"Lucky me," Draco snapped. He suddenly remembered the pitiful look Hermione had given his wounds. Did they truly look that hideous? Then his flesh would be torn that way forever. . . but his face would heal. Not an ugly dragon, as Sanguini had said.

"Come closer," Darien commanded.

"I thought vampires couldn't get about in the daytime," Draco said, crossing his arms.

"Note the lack of windows." Darien wore a small, stiff grin, as if to comfort the boy. "Now. Come and sit. We have things to discuss."

Draco resisted the sneer itching at his nose and stepped forward, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His eyes shifted cautiously over at his 'master.' "Couldn't wait then till evening then? I haven't had breakfast yet, you know."

"Neither have I," Darien commented. His smile faded when Draco didn't look him in the face. "Perhaps you don't understand yet, Dragon: you do as I say, when I say. Day, night, I am still your master. And if you dare make that disgusting little expression again, I will be forced to rid your face of the ability to do so. Do you understand?"

Draco's eyes widened—he hadn't expected the vampire's severity.

When the wizard didn't answer, Darien continued, "You must trust my commands. If you do so, you will lead an enjoyable existence. I have already had to save your life twice because of your own mistakes. You are not, I am told, worth such trouble. But I have invested much in you, and you will please me. You will not make me regret my decision to keep you alive. You will trust me, you will obey me, and I will reward you. Answer, do you understand?"

Draco opened his mouth, closing it again, his eyes narrow. "No. I don't understand. You wouldn't have had to save me the second time if you hadn't put me in that bloody situation in the first place. And what the hell do you mean by reward? Are you going to let me go play with the other slaves once a week or something? You don't plan on giving me my freedom—that much is obvious."

"Power is freedom, and that is exactly what I plan on giving you," Darien answered. "Once you're one of us, you'll have the power to be independent, at least as independent as any of our kind can be."

"What do you mean 'one of us'? Your kind?" Draco stood, but Darien's hand shot out, keeping him from retreating. "Let go of me! I'm not going to die for you, you bastard!"

"It's not death, Draco. Not true death. Death is lack of self. It's not death if you remain." Darien's gray eyes were not speckled with blood but glistening with sadness that his voice didn't carry. It was his softening expression kept Draco from struggling. The vampire's fingers loosened. "It is a rebirth," he added. "You were willing to give all to your last master, were you not? All for power? The power I will give you will be greater than petty wizard standing. Yours will be a power over life."

Draco's face paled. He didn't want to speak, didn't want to say it again. He knew it was weak. "I don't want to die. I can't. . ."

"You can. And will," Darien answered, "either after many years or a few days, you will die. But, if it is sooner. . ."

"I'd rather it be later, thank you!"

The fingers tightened and pain shot through Draco's arm. The wizard yelped and his knees collapsed to accommodate the strained angle of Darien's grip. Draco stared up at the vampire in fear.

"Your life is mine," Darien said.

Draco remembered what Granger had told him and a chill ran down his back. Not for the first time, he realized that he was going to die.

"I bought it," the vampire continued, "and I will do as I will with it. One day, when your power is as great as mine, in a few centuries perhaps, you will be glad to have such a gift as rebirth. You will be glad to have me as your father."

Draco sat still on the floor, his body tense, expecting pain. "Even if I don't want. . ."

"It's not your choice. Your wants don't matter to me," Darien snapped. "This is for your own good—after all, haven't you always wanted power? I've heard about your family—I've heard the same stories throughout the years, from many families, muggle, magic. You are as I was, Draco. I know what you desire, and I will force my gift upon you, if I must."

"Why? Why haven't you killed me yet? Why haven't you already done it then?"

In an instant, Darien threw up his arm, swinging Draco against the bed, slamming the wizard's head down onto the mattress and arching over him like a wolf ready to tear out his prey's throat. The slightest slip of his weight would crush the wizard.

"I could kill you now. In an instant," Darien hissed. "I could turn you. But you're not ready yet. You don't understand what _we_ are. You don't understand your place. But you're almost there. The girl will speed the process along."

Draco could barely force his words out, his throat pinned by the icy fingers of the vampire above him. "Girl?" he coughed. "Granger?"

A fleck of red entered the vampire's gaze. "A decent gift for my son, I think. She'll be your first, Dragon. We always remember our first tastes of eternity."

"I won't." The wizard struggled, jaw tight as he pushed himself down into the bed. "I won't be an _animal!_"

"You will feed."

"I'm not going to kill her," Draco choked, clawing at the vampire's clutching paw.

Darien smiled. "But you will. And, by the time I am done with her, she will want you to take her—your resistant heroism is charming, Dragon, but are you even sure that it was you who asked me to give her safe haven from Sanguini? You don't remember it, I know, and I can speak to you, influence you—how do you know that your defense of her was not me, speaking through you? After all, you hate her. A mudblood."

The vampire leaned close, the copper scent of his lips close to Draco's face. The bed groaned expectantly. "Remember that hate now—you'll forget it when you're lapping at that dirty blood."

Draco tried to respond, but his words came out as a wheeze. In a blur, Darien disappeared from his line of sight. The wizard could suddenly breathe again. He felt the vampire lift off of him and heard another voice in the room.

"Am I interrupting something?"

His legs were jell, but Draco found his way up quickly, glancing back at the bed to see Darien reclined onto his elbows.

"Say hello," Darien commanded .

Draco blinked, turning to see their guest. Her name floated in his mind a moment before escaping his lips. "Annalisa?" Draco asked.

The female vampire gave a toothy smile in confirmation. "Hello, sweet boy, my delightful host."

The wizard rubbed his throat hesitantly. "How did you get here?"

It was only after he asked that Draco noticed that the garments the woman wore were not elegant robes but a satin bath covering and that her dark hair was dripping onto the diving collar.

"I see you haven't taught him manners as of yet," Annalisa noted, glancing at the other vampire.

"Draco," Darien said, his voice soft. "Look at me, my dragon."

The wizard glanced back at his master, confusion written on his face, body tense. His position between the vampires wore on his nerves.

"Go to your room," Darien continued, "and do not leave until I tell you to, for any reason. If flames lick your walls, you'll prove good kindle. If you hunger, eat the paint. You will not leave."

Draco opened his mouth, but the vampire cut him off, sitting up.

"The moment you leave," Darien explained, "I will kill you."

* * *

"A bit rough on him, aren't you?"

Darien glared up at the woman's statement, hearing the door upstairs slam shut as his _son _escaped his sight, bitterly pacing the confines of this second-floor bedroom. "You taught me what I know, mistress. How many years did I spend in your dungeon again?"

Annalisa's laugh was hollow and as quiet as a whisper. She crossed the room. "You would know better than I."

_"Why did you wake me this morning?"_

The female vampire didn't look at him or give answer. She reached his wardrobe, flinging open its heavy oak doors. Without pause, she untied her thin robe and let it slide from her glassy shoulders. Darien watched her naked body with little interest, frowning as the vampire pulled out a set of black velvet robes he had never worn and worked her way into the oversized sleeves.

Annalisa straightened her--his--clothing, glancing down in frustration at her right hand. It was web of welted red skin, but even as she watched, the flesh was paling, healing. She had barely escaped the morning sun.

"The Dark Lord is angry with you," she finally said.

"Again?" Darien asked.

Annalisa's eyes were severe, showing none of the seductive ease she gifted the rest of the world. "I am not amused," she hissed. "That girl you're keeping here is going to cause you trouble. You'll have to speed things along with your new child."

"She's unimportant," Darien stated.

"She is close to Voldemort's bothersome enemy—don't pretend as if you don't recall the Potter boy. Voldemort would prefer to have the girl as leverage. There is also the concern with the girl's friends—there are many powerful wizards looking for her."

Darien stood. "They won't find her. And I do not plan to be rid of her yet. She will be perfect as Draco's first—I've seen it in my boy's mind, the complication, the number of emotions floating about his young body. He truly hated her, you know. And you know hate's cousin well, do you not, mistress?"

"That doesn't matter," Annalisa bit. "It's not safe to keep her here, not for you or your dragon. Sanguini has gained Voldemort's permission to get rid of you. He's planning an attack--it will be within a week, if that. Death Eaters will come for you, as will a select number of vampires."

Darien didn't reply, staring at the empty space in front of him.

Annalisa circled the bed, drawing in. She bent down to kiss his neck, the old scar she had left on his skin so long ago. _Do you want me to be amongst them?_

Darien did not fight her. "As you will, but I will not change my plans. I will only speed things along."


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

The second day was harder than the first and the third even harder than that.

Draco had always been well fed, even if his slim frame held little more than lanky muscle. At Malfoy manor, his father had disciplined him often but rarely did Draco receive a punishment as minor as bed without dessert—when he did warrant such a light reprimand, it was a matter a house elf with a full platter of leftovers could easily remedy. Draco had never really valued food or thought on the consequences of starvation until the third morning following Darien's threat.

The scent of breakfast drifting up the stairs tempted Draco to disobey his master. He decided not to. He was a coward, after all. He was going to die, he was certain, but he couldn't bring himself to make a suicidal move. Not yet. Self-preservation was funny that way.

He waited the day out, ignoring his nagging senses. Night would soon arrive. Then he could sleep. Perhaps Darien would call on him tonight.

The curtain was drawn at his window. He sat against it, staring through a glare of light dividing the bottom pane. The sun hung low, casting its waves of lively lavender and pink through the forest. The front of the house was shadowed, but it was still bright enough outside for him to make out the shape of Madam Hart and Hermione reentering the house, both carrying baskets full of herbs, mushrooms, and other plant-life they'd found within the growth.

"Damn it," Draco hissed. An open palm slammed against the glass. "Stupid girl!"

Out in broad daylight with only an old muggle woman as her warden, Draco had expected Hermione to make some sort of move, to fight and run, like the brave little Gryffindor she was supposed to be. That's what Potty and Weasel would have done. Granted when the duo of heroic fairies told the tale, they'd probably turn the old hag into a troll. . . Draco shook off the mental rant and crossed his room, falling down onto his bed.

He took a glass of water (courtesy of the bathroom connected to his room) from his side table and gulped it down. Drinking it made him feel full, at least for a good twenty seconds.

"I hate her," he blurted.

Draco slid an arm beneath his head, brow wrinkled as he stared up at the ceiling. He did, didn't he? He hated her. Darien was probably using his powers to trick him into thinking about her escaping, thinking about helping her. How could Draco know any different? How could he be sure that everything he had done wasn't the result of Darien's interfering mind games?

He couldn't. The vampire had told him as much.

_". . Are you even sure that it was you who asked me to give her safe haven from Sanguini? You don't remember it, I know, and I can speak to you, influence you—how do you know that your defense of her was not me, speaking through you? After all, you hate her. A mudblood."_

A mudblood, as Darien had said. Draco hissed at the thought of helping her, but what made him more uncomfortable was not the thought that Darien might have forced him to help her but the thought that perhaps he defended her of his own free will. What would his father say?

"Guess it's a good thing he's not here then," Draco muttered.

His father would have beat him for standing too close to a mudblood, especially her, one of Potter's groupies. She was the enemy, after all. Or she had been, back before his life had been shot to hell by his own failure. His failure to kill another human.

A chill ran down his spine.

_Maybe it wasn't the vampire . . . Maybe it was me. Would it really be so bad, not hating people like her?_

He rolled onto his side, staring out at the cluttered room and wanting very desperately to fall asleep.

* * *

He wanted very desperately to sleep, but he had things, reasons for rising. Night called to him. It was time for the vampire to awaken.

He took the stairs slowly, at human speed, listening to the house. Quiet. He would not be disturbed.

Darien opened the doorway, finding the room darker than the hall. He watched the form on the bed shift slightly, the heavy breath of sleep as constant as her heartbeat. He ran the side of one finger across his lip, the blood of yesterday's meal stirring beneath the thin skin. His body tensed as he caught the girl's scent in the air, clean and sweet, laced with need.

He wanted her to flow into him, but he could not allow himself to take the kill. She was not a meal. She was a tool for his use. He would have to resist the urge to rip out her throat, for his son's sake.

The young were never stable in their thoughts, and Draco was very young. Darien could not let the wizard slip away. The vampire had thought on his son for several nights now, the conflict within the boy's mind. Darien had decided what must be done. Draco would fall to temptation only if the girl approached him first.

Darien found the solution easy.

_Make her yearn, make her want, make her his. She will beg for him after he is turned, and his hunger will not let him resist. . . I do this for you, my son._

Darien knew that Draco's subconscious had heard the apology, and the tension left him. Draco would understand when he became his true son. He would love his master for this gift.

The door shut behind him, Darien slipped through brethren shadow and eased down onto the bed, his cold body beside her warm one, his black hair lacing with her curls. His hand traced her face, and he leaned in close to her. She moved onto her back, lips parting slightly as he reached out with his mind, finding her will and taking hold of it. In sleep, his thrall found its grasp quickly. Her dreams danced to his song.

"Hermione," he whispered into ear. "He will take you, Hermione . . ."

Darien didn't press his lips to hers. He already felt her blood calling—the need for it would be too great if he moved his mouth any closer to her body. He let his hand roam in its stead. Her skin was a finer silk than her gown, and he pulled away in surprise at the heat beneath the cloth.

Innocence, ready to be taken.

Darien's eyes darkened, black in the absence of light, crimson in its presence. He felt the saliva burst in his mouth, warm and reminiscent. Hunger was approaching faster than he'd expected. It had been several days since he'd tasted innocence in his son's blood, and his need for it was building rapidly. He had resisted the need for stolen blood, pure blood, for so many years, but the drug was back in his system. The addiction was greater than it had been when he was young and greedy in his hunger.

_I cannot claim her—she is to be his, not mine. _

Darien pulled up her nightgown, stopping when it touched her hip. His fingers roamed her white thigh, easing toward her body's center. Hermione's back arched slightly, her eyes moving beneath their lids. She was seeing what he wanted her to see, who he wanted her to see.

"Draco. . ." she moaned in a long sigh.

The vampire smiled to himself as he moved down her body, pulling away the cotton standing between him and victory. She was not resistant to the thoughts he planted, not as his Draco would surely be. This would be a simple task.

He slipped a long, slender finger into her heat, his thumb circling outside her gated chamber. She sucked in a quick breath, head pushed into her pillow. His ministrations would take her soon, would scar her mind with one touch, one memory from a dream of her enemy holding her. Darien grabbed her leg with one hand, keeping her from moving. His grip tightened, and he could feel a tingle on his palm, capillaries cycling their load through the flesh below. His nails broke the skin of her leg and her knee jerked up.

Her breathing stopped for a fraction of a second.

Darien slid off the bed in an instant, his preternatural hearing shocked by the sudden scream tearing the air around him. The vampire glared down at the awakened the girl, mocking the stunned expression on her face, the fear entering her eyes as her knees found themselves apart.

"What?" she cried, the only word to break her scream.

Darien didn't grant her an answer, his eyes on his fingertips, the sweet droplets found his mouth in an instant. He threw himself back toward the door instead of forward, as his nature told him. He could not attack the girl—his night had been spoiled enough by his eagerness to take her. The thrall was ruined, but that could be fixed, so long as he resisted the urge to. . .

He needed a taste, only a taste to sate his hunger for a few more nights.

Darien darted out of the room, finding himself at the top of the staircase in an instant. He took the unlocked door off of its hinges, moving so quickly that the lone occupant of the room had no time awaken. The vampire jerked Draco out of the bed, slamming the wizard down to the floor and onto his knees. The vampire took to one knee beside him, yanking the young man's head to one side. Savagely, he reopened one of the sealed scars over Draco's collar, shaking as the warmth flooding his mouth.

Darien slowed himself, feeling Draco begin to struggle against the numbness. A fist slammed into vampire's shoulder, another hand yanked at his hair in an attempt to pull him off. Darien hunger resided when he heard Draco's voice call out in pain.

_You resist your master, dragon? _

"NO!"

The shout came from the doorway. Darien pulled away from the boy in time to dodge the book flying toward his head.

Hermione stood beside the broken door, rage painted on her red cheeks and her hand seeking out a second book atop the closest shelf.

"You bastard!" she snarled.

Darien dropped Draco to the floor, blood and spittle dripping from his lips as he bared his stained fangs. He lunged forward like a predator, a growl of frustration leaving his mouth. Hermione leapt out of the way, falling to the floor, but the vampire did not stop for her. Instead, he disappeared through the doorway, the sound of his footsteps gone.

Darien flew over the staircase, landing on the ground floor and swallowing the blood remaining in his mouth as he steadied himself. He could see a form at the end of the hall. The vampire clenched his fists in anger.

"I have made a mistake tonight, Melissa," he said. "The girl. . ."

"These things to happen, master," Madam Hart chirped, adjusting her nightcap. She stepped forward and put a gentle hand on the vampire's back. "They need time. She will ripen into a feast for your dragon, and he will come to love his new father. You have seen the process before, master."

"We have no time, Melissa." Darien wiped his mouth with one hand, disgusted at the mess of red he'd wasted on his sleeve. "The girl isn't important in the end. My mistake is with hurting my boy. Draco must be reborn soon if I'm to keep him—if I do not kill him myself, some other will."

Madam Hart raised a wrinkled brow. "Then they're coming for him?"

"They are coming for both of us."

* * *

Draco knew he wasn't dead, mainly because his face hurt when he hit the floor. He felt too weak to move, but he opened his eyes. His vision quickly adjusted to the moonlit room, and he saw the crushed door, and the girl sitting against the wall beside it, sobbing with the side of her face shoved against the paint and a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound. It took him a moment more to realize that it was Hermione sitting in his room.

"Granger?" he muttered, attempting to pull himself up. He slipped back down onto the floor, cheek against the wood paneling. _Why isn't she looking at me?_

His vision blurred again, and he raised a heavy arm, pressing his hand against his bleeding neck. He opened his mouth again, wanting to ask the witch for help, but his lips closed again soundlessly. His eyes were on her gown, staring at the bloody blossoms appearing on the bunched fabric over her thighs.

"Hermione?"

Her shoulders shook, but she didn't turn to face him.

Draco felt his stomach roll in unease, certain that it was not from hunger.


	13. Chapter 13

Draco could smell her hair. He wasn't close enough to touch it, but he could smell it, a faint scent, lavender maybe. Fresh and clean. It was a new smell for the room, and he had noticed it before his eyes had ever opened.

Hermione lay against the wall where she'd fallen asleep sometime before dawn, her thick curls covering most of her face. She was gripping the blanket he'd draped over her still body. He'd covered her up for his own sake—even exhaustion wouldn't let him sleep with the sight of her bloodied gown before him, with the glaring questions that came with it.

Drowsy brown eyes were staring up at him.

Draco looked away, down at the mattress. He'd pulled himself up into the bed, an act which now felt awkward in light of his awakened guest on the floor.

"Breakfast," Hermione said.

Draco saw the platter next to the bed, two covered plates, two glasses, and a full pitcher. Hart, of course. Apparently, Darien had changed his mind about starving the wizard. Draco reached out without a word, pouring himself a half a glass. He didn't register the taste of orange juice until the last drop rolled over his tongue.

"Sour," he muttered.

Nevertheless, he uncovered the platter and was about to dig into the bowl of cold porridge when he realized that Hermione had yet to move.

"You should eat," she said.

The witch's voice was raw and didn't come easily. She looked as if she was about to insist, but instead she leaned her head against the wall beside her, as if exhausted.

Draco lifted a spoon covered in thick paste to his lips, the taste barely registered, but the texture itself. . . _disgusting_. He sat the dirty utensil into the bowl and pushed it back.

"You should eat," Hermione repeated, face against the wall again. "Make yourself. It's important that you make yourself."

Draco told himself that it was too early in the morning for a fight. He pulled the bowl close, taking another spoonful. A scowl crossed his face. "It's hard to enjoy with blood draught as a substitute for butter," he noted.

"Blood draught?" Hermione stood, the blanket heavy on her shoulders, and walked over. The tension of her body lessened, her sad expression replaced by a furrowed brow. She examined the platter with a crooked head before dipping her own spoon into the other, untouched bowl. Her cheeks puffed as she rolled a minute portion around in her mouth, nodding to herself. "Drought," she confirmed.

"I believe that's what I said."

"It's in mine as well," she continued. "They, or Hart as it probably was, must have put it into both bowls to ensure that you received a dose."

"How nice," Draco slurred, swallowing again.

"Most people wouldn't have been able to identify it so quickly." She poured herself a drink. "You must have a knack for potions."

"Do you honestly think that Professor Snape would _give_ me the grade _just_ because of my name?" Draco asked. "On second thought, don't answer that." His voice trailed off when he saw a faint smile on her face. "What's so funny?"

"I've never seen you take pride in your academic studies, that's all."

"Not everyone flaunts their intelligence. . ."

"No, you don't flaunt your intelligence—you only flaunt the latest broom and your surname, then?" Hermione raised a brow. "And the magic in your blood, of course?"

"Shut it, Granger."

"Eat your breakfast, Malfoy." She shoved her bowl in his direction. "Two doses won't kill you—I dare say you need it."

"I'm not hungry now!" Draco threw himself back on his bed, arms crossed over chest.

Hermione took a breath through her nose, her lips pursed. She shook her head, as if too angry to speak.

"Do you want it to happen?" she finally asked. Her low voice resounded. "Do you? Do you want to die?" Her shoulders trembled beneath their load. "Answer me, Draco."

Draco blinked at the sound of his name, as if he was still not quite used to hearing it from between _those _lips. He stared at her in silence, the anger seeming to melt from his face as he looked at her haggard appearance, the stained gown peaking through the cover.

"I'm just tired, 's all," he said. He cleared his throat—"If you must know," he added in a hurry.

Hermione eyed the edge of the bed, as if wanting to take a seat. Instead she stood beside the table, a hand on the platter. "You're hungry," she said. "You haven't eaten in days."

"If I eat too quickly, I'll be sick—or is that something the know-it-all has overlooked." Observing her frown, Draco pulled himself up. "Would you quit dancing around it?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Yes you do!" Draco snapped. "You need me to eat as confirmation that I'm not going take a bite out when your back's turned. Well, excuse me, but I'm not dreaming in red, and if I were, I somehow doubt you'd be on my menu."

"Are you sure you could lower yourself to eating the muggle—granted, mud probably tastes awful but when your other option's a dirty old muggle?" Hermione mocked.

"Would you quit being such a bitch already?"

"Excuse me if I'm less than pleasant after being. . ." Hermione's lip shook, her eyes narrow and wet ". . .attacked in the middle of the night just so that you'd have a willing bite to eat!"

"What do you mean 'willing'?" Draco slipped off the bed with a sudden thought, a memory of a moment that never happened. Something from a dream of a dream. And an apology from his master. "Darien tried to. . ." He ran a hand down his face, unsure of the feeling rushing through him. "You remembered it?"

"I think I. . .interrupted it," she explained, eyes cast down. "The way you asked—do you mean to say that he's done it before, that he's changed my memories."

Draco's mouth opened and closed, and he tried to make it not show on his face. But the memory of Darien standing against her at the table, his hands roaming her frozen form, it remained. Draco had watched that time, felt humiliated for her. It has been his fault then, as well. He realized that the feeling coursing through him was guilt. Again guilt.

A short sob broke the silence. Hermione muffled it with one hand.

"What did he. . . what did he make you do?" Draco asked, not sure if it was the right question.

"I don't _remember_—nothing, I think. I think he just made me feel, see things." She seemed to shrink in embarrassment. Draco was sure that any other girl would have stopped there. "I can only conclude that he," she continued," wanted me to feel things for you, feel alright with you changing. Maybe even want to help you."

"I don't understand."

"He wants me to offer myself, when you become one of them," she bit. Her eyes shot up. "I don't know why he's going to so much trouble—it wasn't in the books, the importance of a first kill."

Draco felt cold. _It's nothing I didn't already know. That's what you've been telling me, isn't, Darien? I'm going to take her life—that's what you want me to do._

"Perhaps because we're enemies, maybe there's a connection between vampires and their victims," Hermione said. "Have you ever heard of that?"

She stepped back when he sat up, glaring at the open room. "He can hear me sometimes," Draco muttered, ignoring her question. "He can hear me, and I can hear him. But not all the time."

"Is he listening?" Hermione asked.

"No. He's not here."

"You can tell that much? Just like that?"

Draco took a shallow breath, narrowing his eyes slightly. The room seemed loud in its sudden silence. "I can. . ." he began. He voice softened. "I can feel him. I couldn't before."

"I need you to listen to me," Hermione commanded, capturing his dazed expression. "Answer me honestly. Can you keep a secret from Darien?"

Draco met her eyes. "I know where to hide what I don't want him to see, yes."

"And he's not listening to you now?"

"Granger, would you just tell me!"

She took a breath. "Very well. I found something yesterday, when I was outside with Madame Hart. Have you ever heard of a Mooncalf mushroom? It used to grow wild in most parts of Europe; however, it's a rather rare find these days. It's not missed very much by wizard-kind, though—muggles can't use it in their food or medicine and it's easily substituted for in most potions."

"Do you have a point?"

"It's very small, yellowish in hue, and flat topped with tiny spots around the edges. It's poisonous to humans, though rarely deadly. However, what's interesting about the mooncalf is that it causes different reactions in different species of magical creatures. A study on the fungi retold an old story about a village where it was common tradition that, if lost in the woods, one found a mooncalf before sunset and ate it. Apparently it was believed that the local "monster" would go into a deep slumber if it attempted to feed on these poisoned wanderers. It was used for protection, you see."

"Monster, as in vampire, then? They ate poisoned mushrooms to ward off vampires? I've never heard of such a thing."

"Well, you've never been stuck in a common room with Neville Longbottom for four hours straight." Hermione glared at him. "You do understand what I'm trying to tell you, correct?"

"You found these mushrooms."

"Several."

Draco nodded. "Bring them to me."

"They're downstairs." She looked down suddenly, drawing her blanket closer. "I was thinking that perhaps we should have them ready, in case Darien comes back. We could, you know, swallow one if it appeared that he was planning to feed."

A faint hiss escaped from between Draco's teeth. "Honestly, Granger, do you expect that to work—if we'd had them earlier, do you think I would have had time to take them before I was bitten? 'Master, you look a bit peckish—if you could hold off for a moment while I enjoy a quick snack. . .'"

"Perhaps not, but that's no reason to. . ."

Draco raised a hand, cutting her off. "Just shut it a minute, Granger." He felt a chill run down his spine as his weakened form groaned. The wizard fell back onto his bed once more. "Were you bitten last night?" he asked, suddenly out of breath.

Hermione shook here head. "No," she said aloud when he didn't look in her direction. "Why does that matter?"

He was quiet a moment more. "Bring me the mushrooms, Granger. All of them."

She pursed her lips. "You don't give me orders, Malfoy. I found them, and I'm not going to let you use them all in some half-assed attempt to. . ."

"I'm going to die."

Hermione blinked, mouth hung open. "You won't."

"He's got me—you know as much, you know how many times he's drunk from me," Draco sneered. "I'm stuck with him. You're not. Just get the damn mushrooms."

"I won't let you do this," Hermione whispered.

"Yes you will," Draco spat. "You'll do it because I'm the fucking prick who's responsible for your favorite old muggle-lover's death. I'm the one who almost killed your little boyfriend, and who would like nothing more that to see you and your friends murdered just for existing. There's no changing me. I'm Draco Fucking Malfoy, and you'll get me the mushrooms. Now."

"You're such a bastard."

"Point of fact, no. And I need someone to report my honorable pureblood death to my perfectly legitimate pureblood parents. Too bad the messenger's a mudblood. The sacrifices one makes."

Hermione let the blanket drop from her shoulders to the floor. She stood firmly a moment more, as if waiting for him to finish. "You didn't have to die alone, you know."

Draco didn't reply. He simply listened as Hermione's footsteps faded down the staircase toward her room. His eyes closed to the day and he took a calm breath. "Hermione," he stated, seeing her face behind clamped lids, "I won't kill you."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

They were bitter. He should have expected them to taste bitter, but, instead, he'd been looking at the yellow, spotted surface of their soft caps and mistakenly thinking they would taste like bananas.

He would have liked to have had a banana again before he died. Perhaps Madam Hart would have brought him a banana, if he'd asked. Too late.

Draco swallowed the last cap from the Mooncalf, taking in a deep breath. He wasn't sure what effect the mushroom was supposed to have on the eater, only what it did to the vampire, so he could not be certain that it was the mushroom that had caused the ache between his eyes.

He wiped his hands on the cloth napkin that had been holding the bitter little morsels and glanced out the window. The sun was low and steadily falling. It was as if the end of time was catching up with him. Draco resisted the urge to panic at the coming night, remembering g that his job was simple and required very little from him.

Draco stood, walking to the little bathroom that was connected to his quarters. The bathtub was half full, steam rising from the water's hot surface. He turned the facet until it shut off. Steam clouded the mirror and stuck to his forehead.

He unbuttoned his shirt, letting it slide off of his arms and to the floor. He paused, thinking of his own dignity, and decided it would be best to leave his gray slacks on. It wouldn't do to be found in wet boxers, or, worse, the nude. He lifted his bare feet off of the cool tile and let the first sink into the hot water.

A breath of air hissed through his teeth as his skin adapted to the harsh temperature. He let the other foot follow and slid into the deep bath. His tense muscles relaxed as the warmth seeped into his body. He was tempted to take a nap, but he knew that he couldn't let it end here. He had to make sure that Darien would come to him as soon as the sun was down.

Only then would she have time to escape. . .

_Draco took the small bundle from Hermione, avoiding her sad, honey-colored eyes. He knew that she was still angry at him for the bitter words he'd left her with, but he also knew that he wouldn't dare let it show, not at a time like this._

"_We're doing this tonight," he said_, "_at sundown."_

_She shook her head. "We can do it in the morning—that way, he can't follow. It'll give me time to find other people, bring them back to help."_

"_You won't find anyone. Or have you forgotten that you don't have a wand, Granger? Do you plan on asking a muggle camper for a ride?" Draco snorted. He rolled his eyes. "We're doing it when the sun goes down. When he wakes up, it won't take him long to break my barriers down—he'll find out what I'm hiding eventually. And we don't know how he thinks. He might want tonight to be the night. Morning may be too late for you." _

"_Draco." Hermione opened and closed her mouth, as if stopping herself from repeating the name. "What are you planning to do?"_

"_Draw him to me."_

Draco lifted one arm off of the porcelain tub, reaching for the soap pan on the stand beside him. He lifted it; a slender nail was sitting beneath. He picked it up, rolling it between two fingers. He dipped its pointed end into the water, letting it soak up the heat. He pulled it back out of the water and hung his left hand over the steamy surface. He squeezed his hand into a fist, watching the vein lift, blue and anxious beneath his pale skin. He pushed the nail's sharp edge into the skin, wincing at the sudden pain. It hurt more than he expected.

_Hermione looked away, holding to her hands. When they would find no comfortable shape, she crossed her arms, tucking her fingers away. _

"_Water," she said, softly. "It will disperse better in water. Make it hot. He'll smell it," she continued, her cheeks flushed in shame at her own suggestion, "smell it better if it's warmer, I'd suspect. And it'll be more likely."_

_Draco nodded in agreement. "It'll look more like a suicide—he won't expect that there's a trap inside my blood."_

_Hermione shook her head. One hand lifted to cover her face. "You idiot!" she snapped beneath her hand. "It is the stupidest plan I've ever heard." She looked up at him with sudden anger in her nervous gaze. "I hate you for making me go along with this."_

"_I hate you, too," Draco sneered. He lost the expression halfway through. "Good luck."_

_Hermione nodded and turned, disappearing out the door without another word._

Draco watched the blood pearl to the surface and drip down into the water, becoming a cloud of red beneath his reflection. It was almost pretty, the way it fanned out into a pink phantom the further it swam. He pulled the nail out and three more drops rolled down into the water. He let his hand drop.

The wound would never be enough to kill him, especially with the double dose of blood drought he'd swallowed with his morning porridge. But it didn't need to be. He slid down into the water, only the top of his knees and his face sticking out. The water filled his ears: he could hear himself think. He could hear the thoughts he was forcing himself to project, all for Darien's benefit.

_I won't let you kill me—and I won't kill Granger either. You can't make me into a monster, not if I'm already dead . . ._

Draco's body shook as he felt a surge of panic that was not his own flow through his mind.

Darien's voice flooded against him: _Dragon! I command you to stop this! _Draco knew, instinctively that Darien was pushing himself to wake. _Draco, please, not when we're so close to the end. _

Draco took the thought as a signal, pushing the nail against his skin while his limbs floated beneath the water. It barely pierced him again, but the mental image he associated with it was far more dramatic than reality. Draco envisioned a long carpenter's nail gouging into his skin, the blood squirting out of the gorge like an octopus's fountain of ink blurring the ocean depths.

Darien saw the image. He was moving quickly, his feet barely touching the human path up to the second floor. Draco slipped beneath the water's surface before the vampire threw open the door. In an instant, Darien was peering down at the tub, taking in the metallic perfume that lifted off the water like a living mist. His hands, stony in their sudden strength, reached down, lifting Draco out of the water. Draco didn't have time to let his mind go, to let the truth slip out of this thoughts—the temptation had been too much for Darien. His fangs slid into the holes he'd left less than twenty-four hours ago.

He drank deep, pulling Draco to the tiled floor with him as he collapsed in ecstasy. Draco's eyes rolled back at the sudden sensation. Before his survival instinct could kick in, Draco felt himself being released. He fell back against the side of the porcelain tub, throwing one hand over the edge to hold himself up.

His vision blurred for a split second before new blood began to course through his veins. A few droplets trickled down the forgotten wound at his neck. The blood drought. It was still taking affect. Draco blinked in surprise as the realization hit him.

Darien, however, was not paying attention to Draco's thoughts, only the suddenly tension pulling at his muscles, tightening his body. "What!" he cried. A sudden pain moved deep inside him. It was an ache he had never felt before, and he knew at once that it was not natural. His eyes, more black than crimson, glared at Draco.

"What have you done to me?" he hissed. The vampire writhed at a new sensation rolled through his stomach. He pushed himself up, using the wall closest to him for support.

Draco didn't dare move. He stared up at the vampire with glassy eyes. _How does it feel, to not be in control o f your body?_

Darien opened his mouth to speak the answer when the bathroom door flew open. He was up before Draco could even register that someone had entered the small room.

Draco's eyes widened in horror as he watched Darien fall to the floor, Hermione pinned beneath the vampire, her head rolled back, frozen gaze on Draco's wet form. Draco slid across the floor, using all of his strength to throw himself against the vampire's side. Darien's fangs ripped loose from the witch's shoulder and he rolled off of her.

Darien lay on his back, his hands down beside him, fingers curled to claw at the tile beneath him. His body arched once in resistance but grew still as the Mooncalf went to work, forcing paralysis to overcome his undead body.

_Watch her wither, Dragon. The price._

Darien's thoughts dropped away as he drifted into a deep sleep. But Draco knew what it was he wanted to say. The price of betrayal. That was the way the vampire viewed his violent storm.

A wet sound bubbled up from somewhere down below. Draco's eyes drifted down, feather light. They found Hermione, eyes half lidded. Blood spilled out of the gaping hole on her shoulder, where the flesh had been ripped down in two long, ragged, parallel marks. The crimson seemed to boil up, like a potion put on to brew.

Draco could feel his own heart in his hands, beating steady, making his fingers shake. He reached out to cup the witch's injury. Bent over her, he could see the skin at her collar, purple and red beneath. Darien had broken something inside her when he landed. Draco remembered when the vampire had bent over him—he could have crushed him with just a shift of his weight. And he had fallen on her, full of purpose, he had fallen.

She was broken.

Draco's hands shook more furiously. Her half-open eyes were glued to him. He couldn't stand that look, fear and pity, so like his mother's constant gaze.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Granger?" he said, his voice crackling as he pushed down on her shoulder. The blood was rolling off of her collar, pooling beneath her slender frame. He could feel it, warm between his fingers. "Shit, Granger. We agreed."

He knew exactly why she was there.

"_You didn't have to die alone. . ."_

That's what she had said. He had known it then that, as much as he pushed her, she was not planning to go. Her Gryffindor mindset, fools as they are, she was planning all along to stay behind, come in just in time to save him from Darien's wrath. Wandless, defenseless, she'd come nevertheless.

_Why didn't I make you leave? _

Draco stared at her with cold eyes, hateful gray eyes. He had made her a secret promise. He was about to break that promise.

He scrambled onto his knees, slipping an arm into the water. His fingers searched frantically until they found the small nail at the bottom of the tub. He pulled it out and reached over Hermione's limp form. He grabbed hold of Darien's arm. The flesh was as hard as rock beneath the wizard's quaking fingertips. Draco pulled the vampire closer, until his arm was hanging above Hermione.

He pushed with all his might, forcing the nail into that hard, dead flesh. When it pierced threw the skin, he pulled it down, ripping open the length of the stiff wrist. The blood rose to surface, as if the creature it came from was living, but Draco knew that the blood was his own, as well as Hermione's. He hoped that enough of it was hers.

Draco dropped the wrist over her still lips and pinched her cheeks until her mouth was wide. He held Darien's wrist against her.

_It's too late—I waited too long. She's gone._

Her eyes flickered open and her small hands took the vampire's arm from the wizard, holding it tight against her lips. A sick, wet sound came from her mouth as she suckled away. A soft moan escaped her, and she pushed the wrist from her, letting Darien's limb fall awkwardly beside her torn shoulder.

_I promised not to kill you. _

She opened her mouth wide. Subtle and sharp, her fangs were stained with her maker's blood. She grabbed hold of Draco's arm, pulling herself up. He put a hand on her elbow to help her.

"Draco," she breathed. Her eyes were still half-lidded, now due to some unnatural need.

"I broke my promise," he said, staring at her. She wasn't as pale as he'd thought she would be. If he hadn't known better, he would have thought she was still alive. "Hermione?"

She put a hand against his cheek. Ice on fire, she met his expectations there. He leaned into her palm against his own will, and she slipped a lusty kiss over his open bite marks, licking the mess that had spilled down his neck. Her teeth slipped into him, her first victim. Her first.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

Firsts were important. That's what Darien had been saying all along. It was the very reason why Hermione was here, to be Draco's first, all because the young wizard hated her, and hate was a strong emotion. And it must have tasted good, too, because Hermione's fingers slid around Draco's bare back, holding his body against her as she took him in, rocking forward with every needed pull against his bloodstream.

Draco sucked at the air, unable to breath for the weight of her against him. But he didn't voice a refusal, unable to think of anything other the dizzying fog over his eyes, leaving him in a dreamlike state. Or the heat rising from him, radiating off of his body and seeming to bounce off of her cool exterior.

Firsts were interesting.

However, Draco wasn't willing to die for the honor, no matter how stimulating the sensation, no matter what foreign feeling flooded his body when she arched into him and he arched back for her. He released a sigh, feeling the rushed game of tug of war within him, her mouth pulling the life out of him, the drought trying to replenish him, fighting against the retreating tide.

He raised a hand, putting it against her injured shoulder. His palm found the skin closed, slick scars where the vampire's eternal bite remained even after all other injuries were healed. He pushed at her arm, but she was solid, moving only closer to him at feeling his resistance.

_You're going to kill me, Hermione!_

He felt her lips pull away from him. She still held him, as if unable to drop him. Her eyes drifted up, unaware that her tongue had darted out to clean the stains around her mouth. Firsts were, apparently, also messy.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her eyes were glistening and red around the irises. She released him, letting him fall against the wall opposite the tub. But her arms were still handing out, awaiting some sort of embrace. Her brow furrowed in a familiar way, the intelligent witch whom Draco had watched die still trapped inside that small feature.

The rest of her seemed almost to belong to a different person. She was _smooth_ in some unnatural, doll-like way, and her every gesture seemed sharper than before, more apparent, more decisive.

"I still need to feed," she said. Her voice sounded as if she was stating a fact for class. "I'm still hungry," she explained further. She looked down, Draco's blood filling her cheeks in a full blush. "I want t-to finish you," she whispered. She fell back, off of her knees, scooting herself away from him.

"Well," Draco began. He stopped, realizing that the answer in his mind was not going to do him much good. "Well, don't!" he snapped. "Get a hold of yourself, Granger—we've still got work to do."

But Draco really wasn't sure what work was left. Darien lay before the bathroom's door, his eyes closed, the wound on his wrist closed as well. He lay perfectly still and seemed to be in a natural sleep until one looked closely at the muscles of his face. His jaw was taunt, stiff with tension that any sleeping figure did not know unless in the folds of a nightmare. Draco pushed himself against the wall in expectation, unable to shake the feeling that the vampire would, at any moment, awaken in a fit of rage.

"She's coming," Hermione said.

A second later, Hart's figure appeared at the door, her wrinkled face downcast and on the sleeping vampire. Her lower lip pulled down, displaying narrow, yellow teeth.

"Master," she hissed. Her voice caught in her throat, its sickeningly sweet charm gone in an instant. Her eyes, hooded by the sagging flesh of her low brow, shot to Draco. "What," she asked, "have you done to your father?"

She slipped her hand into the skirt pocket hidden behind her apron. A long butcher's knife glittered in the dull bathroom light as it was revealed. Hart's steady hand raised the strong handle.

"This has got to be a joke," Draco sneered. Though he was sure it was all in his swimming head, he couldn't help but feel the sudden urge to laugh at the old woman's threatening stance. Any amusement he felt was swept away by the movement to his side.

Hermione was in front of the ancient muggle before he hand time blink. The newborn vampire reached out to grab hold of the woman's pickled neck, but her hand moved too fast, her nails slicing through the papery flesh as if it were wet clay against the potter's tool. A vermilion spray rained down across the already stained, once-white tiles below.

Knotted fingers dropped the weapon to the floor. Hermione took a slow, human-like step backward, lowering her hand just as cautiously. Madame Hart's body fell to the floor of Draco's quarters, just outside the door frame.

Draco pulled himself to his feet, balancing on legs of jelly. His hands were shaking again, a sputtering, nervous pant sounding between his lips. He felt as if he'd ran a long race from one circle of hell to the next and found himself even deeper in that famous pile of excrement. He stepped over Darien's legs, closer to the muggle woman.

He was fairly certain that she was dead. There didn't appear to be much of her neck . . . left. Draco put a fist in front of his mouth, stopping himself from gagging at the gory sight. He glanced back at the vampire standing behind him.

Hermione's eyes were wide, their natural amber in its proper place. Her mouth was agape and red. Her face, her chest: she was covered in Hart. And she looked as stunned as Draco felt.

"I didn't," she said, shaking her head. "I didn't mean to. . . I only wanted to grab her. She was going to lunge forward, I could see it in her muscles. I only wanted to stop her from moving." Her eyes, their whites pink with unshed tears, found Draco. "What have I done?"

Draco took a calming breath and reached out, snatching up the vampire's wet hand and holding it at the wrist. "We've got to go," he said.

Hermione looked past him suddenly, her head cocked to one side. "Can you hear all of that?"

_I can barely hear anything over my heartbeat._

Hermione smiled slightly. "I can barely hear it all over your heartbeat. It is rather loud, I think," she said, softly, as if singing the words. She pulled out of Draco's grasp, grabbing hold of his wrist and pulling him toward her. She lifted him easily, tossing him over her shoulder.

"What the hell!"

Draco suddenly found himself staring at the floor and Hermione's curving backside. He threw a fist against her back, attempting to kick his legs to no avail.

"Hold on," she said.

Draco was used to moving quickly, as was anyone who had every ridden a broom, but he wasn't used to being jostled. His head, already aching, did not take the movement well. He clamped his mouth shut, suddenly glad that he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

"Go to sleep," Hermione said.

He registered their steady movement out of the manor and into the night wood before his eyes decided to obey their new mistress. _Mistress?_ he thought. He slipped away before the question could be answered.

* * *

Annalisa stood on the edge of the clearing, watching the fire grasp at the black morning sky, her slender hands folded neatly over the wide, sweeping skirt of her plum gown. The manor blazed, a gray cloud lifting from the flames and catching the moonlight as it flew upward. The warmth of it was exhilarating and frightening.

She had arrived only minutes ago, too late to take part in the raid. And she would soon have to leave again, before the burning sun peeked over the horizon. The small group of wizards and vampires who'd arrived earlier was still littered across the clearing, taking in the raging beauty of the fire. She watched as one of them raised a wand toward the heavens. A green symbol lifted over the clouds, a skull with a snake as its long devil's tongue.

They would have to leave even earlier now.

Sanguini's face was shadowed but the awkward angle of his grin was apparent as he stepped forward, throwing back the hood of his cloak. "I hope this was not too painful for you, Annalisa," Sanguini said, the hint of laughter in his voice. "Watching your son's reputation go to ruin can be rather difficult."

Annalisa glanced away from him, hearing a support beam break as the manor crashed down to the ground, throwing up a shower of glowing embers. "It is in service of my lord," she replied. She her fangs grazed her cheeks as she stopped herself from returning his grin tenfold. "Did you, by chance, look inside the manor before you decided to burn it to the ground?" she asked.

Sanguini stepped closer, his feet crushing the dew damp ground beneath him. "Don't take me for a fool," he hissed. "I knew he was missing from the manor the moment I apparated with the others. And your precious son will have no place to call home when he returns at daybreak." Sanguini stood tall in an attempt to tower over the woman's steady form. He failed, but the pride he felt radiated off of his being, just as well. "I knew he would flee, Annalisa, the predictable coward that he is. I only regret that I did not have the chance to throw his new favorite plaything into the blaze."

Annalisa's eyes narrowed. "Funny, Sanguini, I thought that your only regret would be that the girl was not here. Is that not the reason for your mission? I do believe that is what you told our Lord Voldemort." She pouted her full lips, cocking her head with a look of mock pity on her face. "Or have you forgotten that he's expecting you to have her when you return?"

A low growl left the other vampire's mouth. "I'll find her," he promised.

"Good luck with that, friend." Annalisa rolled her round shoulders, loosening them. "If you don't mind, I believe I'll be returning to my bed before the sun rises and the aurors arrive."

Sanguini reached out, touching her robe with one hand. Annalisa glanced down at his offending hand and he released her without a second thought. "Warn him, if you like," Sanguini said. "Warn him that I'm coming for him—and his dragon."

Annalisa watched the vampire retreat to the small gathering of wizards who were preparing to leave the scene of their crime. Her eyes grinned at his shrinking form. "Will do," she said.

**End Notes: I hope I've confused you terribly (in a good way). Don't fear, all will be explained.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

He'd been here before, in the red room.

It wasn't until he blinked a stinging tear of sweat out of his eyes that he realized that it was an actual red room with red curtains and sloppy crimson paint on the walls. There was a border of white and pink roses around the edges of the ceiling. All in all, it wasn't of the best taste. And it also wasn't a room in Darien's manor.

Chills shook him as the air in the room crept along his slick torso. He felt as if he'd broken a fever in his sleep. Had he been sick?

The bed squealed beneath him as he slid his legs off the mattress and pushed himself into a sitting position. The tacky pink roses greeted him as he stared at the feminine vanity across from the bed. It had probably been a lovely wooden piece once, but it was coated in that dreadful, thick red paint now, and he found himself sneering.

"You're reacting better than expected," Hermione said.

Draco turned and found her in the doorway. She had a long paper bag on a hanger slung over one arm and a pair of shining black men's shoes in the other hand.

"The books said that the death of one's master is very traumatic for both the mind and body. You seem to only be suffering from a fever. Did you dream?" She cocked her head at the question. "No, you didn't," she answered for him. "How odd."

His fingers prodding the sleep from his eyes, Draco stood, his legs numb beneath him. His toes began to tingle as the blood returned to them. Hermione must have been carrying him a long time, he realized. He blinked, finally processing what she'd said and sat back down.

"Darien's dead?" he asked. He felt his cheeks grow hot, but he wasn't sure why he was angry with this information. He had, after all, poisoned the vampire. "Did you kill him, then?"

Hermione shook her head, a glimmer in her eyes as the faint electric light of the sole lamp in the room caught her honey and crimson irises. "I was nearly out of the forest when I looked back. I could see smoke rising in the sky—if I had to guess, I'd say that Sanguini made good on his word."

"And we left Darien vulnerable to attack."

"He would have killed us both." The vampire stepped into the room, lips drawn into a hard line over her teeth. She slid the vanity's stool close to the wizard and sat down. "Yes, vulnerable. And he's most likely dead due to our actions." Her face hardened. "I know, I am."

Draco glared at her. "Why the hell didn't you run? You weren't supposed to come back."

"Can't change what's already done." Hermione shrugged, tossing the wrapped clothing onto the mattress beside him. "And it doesn't matter. Put the suit on—I picked it up at a muggle village we passed. I was surprised when I saw the place, so I ran off in the opposite direction. You wouldn't believe it, but we're less than a ten minute…run from Hogsmeade."

"Ten minute run for you, you mean. We've been in Scotland this whole time?"

Hermione nodded and picked a piece of lint off of her skirt. Draco realized for the first time that she had changed clothes. She was in a short black formal dress that rained rhinestones below its high silver belt. It was sleeveless, and Draco was freezing, but he assumed that she couldn't feel the difference in the temperature.

"Why the hell are we wearing muggle clothing?"

"Why not—you've been wearing it for weeks at Darien's." Her eyes drifted up, looking past Draco's shoulder. "It'll be daylight soon."

Draco turned. The curtained window was tucked up in one corner and the gray glow of coming dawn brightened the wall closest to it. _Then it's only been this one night. . . It felt like I was out for ages._

"I meant, why the hell are we wearing muggle clothing when bloody Hogsmeade is so close?" Draco's gray eyes darted back to her. "The better question is, why aren't we there already? You could have made it to an inn—we could be with our own kind right now. People are looking for us, you know."

"People," she corrected, "are looking for me—everyone thinks you're dead already. And as for 'our' own kind, I believe we won't find any such company in a random wizard village. Have you forgotten? I'm a vampire, and you're a vampire's companion. We don't blend in with others anymore."

"Maybe you don't," Draco scoffed.

Hermione's jaw tightened. "You still don't get it—there's a reason why I told you not to let Darien use you as the human keg, Draco. Don't act like didn't mention it! You know you'll never be the same—you'll never be like everyone else anymore." With a twist over her wrist, she beckoned him forward. Draco felt his torso lean towards her and wrapped his fingers into the blanket beneath him to stop from moving further. "See. You'll never escape this type of life—you've been bitten too often. You've been claimed by us. . . At least, that's what the books in Darien's library suggested."

She leaned back, propping her elbows on the table behind her. "I suppose that's why you're not suffering right now. Servants suffer from the loss of their master—but you gained a new one before the other one died. Switching ownership must have saved you from the agony."

Draco pushed himself to his feet, a scowl on his pale face as he looked down at the woman. "You're full of it, Granger. How dare you think that I'm your damn slave—as if a Malfoy would ever. . ."

Hermione stood, the movement cutting off his words. She gently laid a hand on his bare chest. With a tap of her finger, he was bouncing on top of the mattress. A weight landed on his thighs, and he attempted to scramble to the opposite side of the bed. Nails scratched his scalp as her fingers grabbed hold of his hair and pulled him back. Her grip tight, she leaned over him, rhinestones tickling his stomach, her lips white and wanting.

"You need to watch yourself, Draco," she hissed. Her hand released his head and hovered over his neck. "I'm hungry. And I don't know how long I can stop myself from hurting you. So perhaps you should lay off the name calling for now."

Draco let out a shallow breath, remembering her fingers, the way they sliced through Hart's papery skin. His skin was not much thicker. That thought met his sudden awareness of where Hermione's body was positioned against his, and he felt a sudden awkwardness heat his ears. He closed his eyes, feeling his hands shake as he forced them to stay against the blanket instead of creeping up to find the soft skin sitting above waist. His head rolled to one side, his scarred neck exposed as he waited for her bite.

Her hips rocked against his lap, pushing the oxygen from his lungs, and suddenly her weight disappeared. He heard the vanity's mirror shatter, and his eyes opened. Hermione stood, livid, against the damaged piece of furniture.

"What the hell was that?" she snapped. Her eyes were wet, the crimson in them little more than a thin line. She released a dry sob into her own hand. Her brow furrowed, she stepped away from the sharp shards. "Do you think you can play with me like that, Malfoy? Do you think that's funny?"

"You were the one on top of me!" Draco spat, refusing to move. He felt warmth on his shoulder and turned. A single ray of sunshine was coming through the window, stretching halfway across the bed.

"I've got to go," Hermione said, following his gaze. She touched Draco's foot. "We don't know what Voldemort will do if he gets word of you. And I don't know what my. . .friends will do if they find out about. . ." She shook her head. "Don't leave me," she commanded. "We can talk about our options tonight."

Draco ground his teeth, swallowing. "Fine. I won't."

She stared at him a moment longer before twitching her fingers above his toes. Draco released a high squeal before retracting his foot.

"What the hell!" he screeched.

Hermione cocked her head. "You were lying," she whispered. "So I broke a bone in your foot, just a little one. You'll be fine, but your foot's going to swell today. I'd stay off if it, if I were you. You won't get very far on it."

Draco growled into the cover, punching the soft mattress with one fist. "Of course, I was fucking lying—you want me to stay here and wait for you to wake up hungry! Are you insane? Any rationally minded person you make a run for it."

Hermione didn't answer, walking toward the door instead. "See you tonight," she said, giving him a smile as she slammed it shut.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

The light in the room was dim, the sky outside a stark gray that was quickly fading to night. She'd awaken soon, he knew. He tried to push the thought from his mind, but he knew she was waiting there, in the dark recesses of his subconscious. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see her, rolling over in her sleep, her body sensing the evening's birth. She was resting somewhere beneath the house, somewhere damp.

Draco slipped his pants over his narrow thighs, yanking the zipper into place. He released a short growl when he looked down. Granger's clothing selection involved black on black, too formal to blend in with a crowd, be it muggle or magic, and the shoes were a size too small for his swollen foot. He remembered her own dress and realized that she must have taken the clothing from the same shop.

That put a smirk on his face, as he was certain she hadn't taken the time to withdraw money from the bank to pay for the items. _Granger the thief. How absolutely laughable—what would your friends say?_

He knew the thought was a mistake the moment he felt her movements become ridged. He watched the door. It opened two seconds later, the girl leaning against the frame. Hermione's face was pale, as expected, but her eyes were vivid, red from hunger and lost in her own memories.

She didn't address him, instead stepping towards the tacky vanity, pushing shards of the broken mirror away with the side of her foot. The vampire planted herself on the stool and hunched forward, looking decisively human. 

"I sent my parents away," she said, grasping her hands together. She was staring out the window behind the wizard, as if looking for something.

"No 'how's the foot I broke'?" Draco inquired. "How about, 'I hope you were able to find something edible during the daylight hours'?"

Hermione didn't acknowledge his sarcasm but squinted in his direction.

Draco felt the sneer growing on his face. "Guess you have changed, Granger."

"Hermione," she corrected. She rolled one hand against her opposite palm, as if studying the strong flesh there. "Yes. I have, though I doubt you know it as well as you think. I didn't wear my personality on my sleeve, not like you." She paused. "You've changed, too."

Draco snorted, looking down at his clothes with distaste.

"Yes, I'm sure," he noted. "I was referring to your lack of the Gryffindor façade. And your feminine politeness, that's missing as well."

"Feminine politeness?" Hermione rolled her eyes. " I was referring to your half-assed sarcasm," she snapped. "I think you've folded a little, softened some. And over such a short period of time. Tut, tut." She smiled slightly. "I suppose enslavement does that to a person."

"That's exactly what I'm talking about," Draco noted. "I seem to recall a certain zealous fool preaching to us pure-bloods about elf rights not too long ago. Shouldn't you be parading for freedom to vampire victims?"

"I still think the elves deserve rights," Hermione replied. She started at him. "We'll find you a way out of this, Draco, even if you don't deserve it. You've got more of a chance that me."

Draco cleared his throat, deciding not to address the sudden tension in the room. He sat down on the bed across from her. "What were you saying about your parents?"

Hermione cocked her head, her eyes softening as she looked the wizard over.

_Well, I suppose I know what a piece of meat feels like now._ Draco snorted.

"I heard you think of the, Ron and Harry," Hermione sighed. "It made me remember what I'm missing. We made plans after last year. There are some things you might not know about your Dark Lord, things we discovered. . .around Dumbledore's death. He has weaknesses. Ron and Harry and I. . .we decided to seek them out, on our own." She shook her head. "Ron and I couldn't let Harry fight his on his own."

"Oh, Merlin," Draco sneered. "Please tell me there's something not about Scar-head in this story?"

Hermione frowned. "I was getting ready to leave with my friends. So I sent my parents away." She blinked, the back of her hand catching something on her cheek in a split second. "I took their memories and planted new ones. I put them in a temporary life where they don't have a daughter. Where magic isn't a part of their lives. No one knows that I sent them away, so no one will find them. I did it to save them. . .They would have wanted to help me, if they'd know that I planned on going on a suicide mission with my best friends. I couldn't allow that. And I certainly couldn't risk Death Eaters using them as leverage over me."

She stopped.

"I sent them away the day Sanguini caught me. How was that for good timing?"

Draco blinked, his brow furrowed in thought. "Well," he coughed, "that was actually rather . . . clever."

"Yes, I thought so," she smiled. She shook her head. "Anyhow, the point is, I made these preparations to go into hiding, to help Harry. I didn't make them in vain." She waved down at her body. "This new development isn't going to stop me. I won't let my friends face this war alone. We're going to help them."

"We?" Draco was on his feet again, throwing his weight to his left to get off of his sore foot. "You are mistaken if you think I'm going to go into hiding with your little friends. And, in case you haven't noticed, that 'new development' has left you somewhat dead. What makes you think your friends will still want you back?"

Hermione stood to face him, somehow imposing, even at her shorter height. "I worried about their acceptance as well, but I'm not concerned with that anymore. I've thought it over."

"You're an idiot," Draco hissed, "if you think they won't notice."

"I'm not an idiot, _Malfoy_," Hermione snapped. "I know it won't be easy for them. Honestly, would you leave the people you love to die, just because they might not want your help anymore?"

Draco released an anxious breath. "I'm not going to be there when they reject you, _Granger_."

"Yes, you will," Hermione replied, "because we're helping them before I even fathom helping you. Consider yourself my servant until the day this war has ended."

Draco's eyes rolled up to the ceiling. "Oh, fuck me. You can't be serious."

Her fingers curled around his shoulder and his eyes shot down in fear. He opened his mouth to stop her from squeezing any tighter but closed it again when he saw the urgency on her face. She was looking toward the hallway.

"Someone just apparated in," she whispered.

"The owners?"

Hermione's brow furrowed. "Let's not find out," she replied.

She pulled him to the window, jerking it up with a flick of her wrist. Draco straddled it, crawling out before she had a chance to pushing him from the cottage. She followed his movements, gesturing towards the woodland surrounding the little homestead when she landed on the ground.

Draco nodded in agreement, slipping through the trees as quietly as he could. The grayness of the sky was now found only in the clouds surrounding the bright moon above. Night had come quickly since he'd last looked out the window, and the darkness provided a thick cover once he was in the shadowed tree line. A few yards away from the cottage, he slid down into a dry ravine, wincing when his bad foot hit a root. He ignored the shot of pain, hunching down out of sight instead of releasing a stream of curses.

A few seconds later, Hermione hopped down and landed quietly beside him.

_What did you see?_ Draco asked.

Brown curls bobbed around her neck as she shook her head. She paused a moment, her ear tilted toward the cottage. The vampire suddenly straightened.

"They're gone," she noted. "They probably think we apparated away. It's someone who obviously doesn't know about our little wand situation."

"Who?"

Hermione's gaze narrowed slightly. "Well, if I knew that, I'd tell you, now wouldn't I." She looked over his form. "Your foot hurts."

"Funny story, some idiot broke it."

"Nicely done, Malfoy, but my question was leading somewhere." She paused. "I'll have to carry you if we're going to get anywhere fast. Last time, I slung you over my shoulder, but I'm not sure what the most comfortable mode of transportation is while you're conscious."

Draco groaned. "Why are we in a hurry? Can't we walk?"

"You'd stumble too much. Someone might hear you," Hermione replied. "Now, I thought perhaps you could ride on my back."

Draco shook his head quickly. _A girl obviously doesn't realize what a bad idea that is. _"Absolutely not." He thought he saw a smirk on her face. _Or perhaps she just likes screwing with my head._

"Fine," Hermione answered curtly. "I'll carry you like a child then. It seems to be the only feasible way. Don't worry. It shouldn't take us long to get to Hogsmeade."

Draco raised a brow. "Then you've come to your senses?"

"I know of a place we can hide."

"Of course."

The wizard tried to brush down the blush on his face when he was forced to put his arm around her neck. She lifted him up with ease, grasping him under his knees and behind his back.

"This won't take long," she reiterated.

Draco didn't realize she was moving at first. He squinted his eyes against the brush of cool air against his face, enjoying the sensation. It reminded him of quidditch more than he expected, and he felt his body lose its tenseness somewhat when he related the travel to his favorite sport. In all honesty, it felt less like being carried than being side-along apparated several times in a row.

"Are you using magic?" Draco asked.

Hermione nodded. "I think so. It's as if every step lengthens on its own. I hadn't really had the time to think about it until now."

As fascinating as he found this information, Draco was distracted from his thoughts by the sudden appearance of a large house before him. In the dark, it was somewhat hard to recognize at first, especially since he had always seen it from the front when he'd visited Hogsmeade Village in the past.

"The Shrieking Shack?" When Hermione sat him down, Draco shook his head. "Isn't it haunted?"

"Long story, shortened, no." Hermione grinned. "But the rumor should keep people from visiting it during the daytime."

"I seem to remember students coming to see this place. I imagine the village children do the same."

"But never enter it," Hermione noted. "Which is why it's a good stopping point while we come up with a plan of action. Let's go."

The two walked down the hill, in silence. The back door seemed to be bolted shut. Knowing Hermione wouldn't have a problem with it, Draco walked away from her, trying to stare around the boards over the dirty windows of the old house.

"So you're set on this whole 'helping your friends' thing?" Draco muttered.

He only half heard her reply over the sound of her the lock being ripped off the back door. He'd reached the corner of the house and peaked around it. There was a clear path at the front of the house that led back toward s the rest of the village. In the distance he could see movement, someone likely heading home after a night of visiting the haunted shack.

"Granger, there's people," Draco said, stepping out from the back of the house. "Probably children, like I said."

Hermione grabbed his arm, pulling him back into hiding. Draco grimaced at her touch, pulling free and throwing a fist against her arm to keep her from advancing. Before he could move back , she yanked onto his shirt, shoving him through the open doorway into the shack. Draco slipped to the floor, slamming his knee on a board that had been nailed to the door. The metal tip slipped into his pants, catching the cloth and slicing open the soft flesh above the curve of his knee.

"Shit," he snapped, grabbing hold of his leg. He pulled his hand away. It was dark in the shack, too dark to see the stain, but he could see the outline of liquid on his pale fingers. Blood.

His eyes darted up to the shadow over the doorway. The moon was behind the vampire, casting her curving form into a silhouette of black. But Draco could make out the reflection of her teeth in the faint light and the glow of red in her eyes.

Hermione's voice was heavy when it broke the silence between them.

"You need to run," she whispered.

**End Notes: Sorry for the massive amount of dialogue in this chapter. I hope you enjoyed this mini-cliffy. Hermione hungry. Hermione see bleeding Draco. Yum. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Author's Note: IMPORTANT! This chapter is rated a very high M. You have been warned. If you don't want to read this chapter, feel free to skip. I sort of separated this scene into a separate chapter for those who'd rather not read. **

**Chapter 18**

"You need to run."

Draco grasped at the floor behind him, pulling himself onto his feet. His luck held; the knee he'd split was on the same leg as his broken foot. He stumbled backwards, his thin shoulder blades bouncing off of a wall behind him. He turned. Stairs were to his right, only a few feet away. There had to be a second option, a back door. But the house was dark around him, the closest light cast down the staircase from a decorative, green and red stained-glass window placed at the top of the stair, looking out at the back of the house. The moon must have been hanging outside it, because its glow was a fierce white between the colored panels.

"Granger, don't," he hissed.

She hadn't moved from the doorway, but her hands were on the frame. Wood splinters beneath her fingers.

"I can't stop," she said, her voice strained. "I don't know if I'll be able to stop myself."

"But Darien. . ."

"Darien was older than me—and not as hungry as I am." She released a breathy sound, a purr of sorts. "And you smell so wonderful."

"How are you going to help your friends like this?" Draco asked, trying to stop his words from shaking as they left his mouth. "What if your precious Potter breaks a glass? You going to kill him, too? Or does villains' blood taste better than heroes'?"

Draco could feel the tremor in the air, the split second warning. He threw himself up the stairs, the gust of wind from her movement knocking him forward before he reached the top. Three steps lay between him and the next floor, but his body refused to move. He could feel her presence in his mind, telling him to lay still, the vampire in her begging her prey's surrender. His fingers clawed against the banister as he drug himself up. A finger hooked his collar bone, flipping him over mid-rise and tossing him back onto the stairs. His back slammed into the hard edges of the steps, and he cried out in pain.

His collar bone was a flaming gush of heat against his skin, broken, he was sure, but his need to survive was too strong for him to dwell. He pushed himself off with his feet, trying to make it off the painful steps. A hand surprised him, grabbing hold of his wounded shoulder and squeezing, yanking him up onto the flat surface below the small, bright window.

Emerald and crimson patches lit Hermione's face as she towered over him, somehow managing to circle him like a vulture in the second it took him to register the pain and cry out again. She stopped beside him, a look of agony on her face as she eyed his neck, wanting to tear open his old scars, but she slid down his body instead. Draco felt the cloth over his torn knee disappear, ripped off in an instant. Her cool lips covered the wet skin of his leg, suckling hungrily to clean up the shallow cut.

Draco rocked his body sideways to throw her off, but her hand grabbed hold of his inner thigh, just above the wound, to steady him. Her fingers dug into the flesh, bruising him, but the sensation was too foreign to be painful. Draco sucked in a quick breath as her fingers kneaded the long muscle of his leg, their reach climbing, far too close to a suddenly aware part of his body.

"Oh, Merlin," he hissed, shuttering as his pants suddenly became far too tight. "Hermione . . . Hermione, stop."

Her lips lifted off his leg, and her eyes widened as she realized what she was doing. She slipped up his body, one palm against his stomach to hold him down, her face hovering over his. She appeared to be shivering, her body shaking in some awkward, inhuman way. It took Draco a moment to realize that it was not coldness she was feeling.

"I think I know a way," she said, a drop of blood spilling off of her lips and onto his chin.

"To what?" Draco forced himself to ask.

"A way to distract myself, from my hunger," she said, a sad look in her starving eyes.

She lowered herself slowly, hesitantly licking the droplet off his face. She must have felt the blood rise to his skin because she lifted her mouth again, planting it over Draco's. Her tongue darted out, rolling around his mouth. Draco reacted to her kiss, his free hand, catching her side and pulling at the dress over her body. Before he could move further, she yanked at the cloth over his stomach, tearing his shirt off him.

Draco's body jumped at the sudden touch of the cold, wooden floor beneath his back, but he didn't pull away from her mouth. Her hand danced over his belly button and lowered, her long fingers yanking at the belt of his pants. The metal button popped loose, ricocheting off of the banister, and the zipper tore free from the cloth.

The wizard arched against her, groaning into her mouth. Her lips pulled free of his, heading back towards the scars of his neck.

"Why?" The question was a gasp, his breathing heavy as she lowered her body to grind against his pelvis. "Why are you doing this?"

"I'll take too much," she whispered against his ear. _If I don't distract myself another way, I'll kill you. _

"So you're going to screw me to save me?" he coughed. "Raw deal."

"Doubtful," she answered. Her fangs slid into his neck, and he moaned from the sudden shock. But her pull was gentler than her body's frustrating motions. She was drinking slowly, pacing herself. Not too much. Not too much. . .

Draco didn't realize there was nothing beneath her dress, not until the stiffness slapping his belly felt something decidedly unfamiliar slide against it.

_You've never? _Her voice shook his mind. He could barely hear it for his own thoughts.

"You have?" he returned.

She laughed into his wound, continuing to sip his life away a moment later. With sudden precision, her hand slipped down between their bodies, straightening his floundering member a split second before she slammed her body down onto him. His flesh shot up past her folds, and the vibrations of her cry tickled Draco's neck. His body shuddered in ecstasy at the contact, and she be began to rock, her body above him, her waist swiveling back in forth, allowing him to explore her grasping insides.

Draco could feel a warm, unnatural sensation growing between them, warm and living. He could feel a sense of shock radiating off of Hermione and his eyes suddenly drifted downward. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the air between them was brighter than it had been. It reminded him of something familiar, something he'd seen and felt before: magic.

"What?"

Hermione didn't answer, her body suddenly more urgent. Her movements quickened and her lips tightened around his flesh. The floor beneath them began to shake slightly, the walls shuttering at the magic bubbling over them. The window above shattered, but the shards of red and green rained down beside them instead of over them. It was as if the glass was slipping around the sudden, glowing boundary.

Draco felt his whole body tighten as the friction grew. A quick release shook him to the core, and he realized the sensation hadn't come from his own body but from the witch's. A moment later, her movements fastened again, and Draco felt himself join her in a moment of climax.

Her fangs slid out of him and his head banged hard against the floor as his body shivered against the glow.

Hermione's eyes were heavy and lidded as if she'd been woken from a dream. "Sleep," she commanded. And he did.

**End Notes; So, if you want to know what that was all about, I'll explain more in the chapters to come.**** I hope those of you who read past my warning enjoyed this. Back to the plot in the next chapter. Review and tell me your thoughts. **


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

To say he was sore would have been a grave understatement.

His dreams had been warm, comforting, but he woke to consciousness in a cold room, aching from his feet to his head. _What the hell did I do last night? _

Draco felt a giddy sort of smile reach his lips. _Oh, yes. I remember now. _

And while that thought brought back a bit of his lacking warmth, a shiver of shock swept through him. He'd let a vampire screw him. He'd let Hermione Granger grind him into the floorboards, quite literally. And something else had happened, too. He wasn't sure what, though.

He opened his eyes, blinking rapidly, and pushed himself up onto his elbows. His eyes darted around the room. Cobwebs made a glowing halo over the four-post bed, their silver threads shining in the slight glow of the moon light from the closest window. He was surprised to see the world outside; obviously the window had been boarded earlier, as a pile of planks lay on the floor below, ripped nail and all from the frame.

"Morning, Draco."

Hermione was at the doorway by the time he turned around. She was stretching her arms out slightly and the silhouette of her curling hair was a mass of disarray.

"Or evening, for everyone else, I suppose," she said, her voice somewhat nervous. She stepped into the room and her bare feet kicked up a layer of dust. Draco noticed that the bed he was lying on appeared the only clean item in his vicinity. "You slept the day away," she explained.

"So did you," he said, attempting to accuse. It faded away.

He could see a slight smile on her face. She patted his arm, and he rolled towards the right of the bed, allowing her room to sit down. Instead she crawled in beside him, beneath the ragged blanket, and propped her face on one hand to stare at him.

"It worked," she said. She shyly cast her eyes down to the flat pillow she'd claimed. "It's hard to believe, really, but it did. It. . . satisfied my hunger."

Draco was silent a moment. "Good to bloody know," he finally replied. "You vampires don't require much, do you?"

"You weren't complaining," she noted. "Well, at least not after I. . ." Her eyes darted up, suddenly, a look of panic on her face. "Merlin, Draco, I practically--I'm so sorry. It was the only way I could think of. . .Oh, God, Draco, I didn't want to do that to you."

She rolled of the bed, putting her back to him, her face in her hands. "What the hell did I do?" she muttered.

Draco reached out, hesitantly touching her black dress. Apparently, she'd dusted that off, too. A slice of fire ran through his shoulders; his collar bone was fractured, at the least. The sensation reminded him of his lack of a wand.

"As much as it pains me, if you must know, it was preferred over death."

She grew quiet. "You're trying to make me feel better?"

The wizard sat up, putting his back to the head of the bed. "No," he said, "of course not. I'm just stating a fact."

"No," she hissed. She turned quickly, staring at him as if he'd grown a set of horns. "No, I can tell. You said that to make me feel better. I know, Draco, I can tell what you're feeling if I concentrate."

"Oh, please!" he sneered, retracting his hand as if she'd burned him. "As if I could care about your precious feelings."

Hermione's brow furrowed. "There's something wrong with you, Draco."

"You're the dead one."

"But you're not being yourself!" she snapped. "Your behavior is changing—this blood bond is changing you. I know I said it before, but I didn't realize this would progress so quickly. I knew that Darien had a pull over you in the house, but I never knew how easy it must have been for him to drink from you. I shouldn't have chided you. He could have gotten anything from you, if he'd tried a bit harder."

"Would you not bring up Darien while discussing sex," Draco requested. "It's a bit off-putting."

Hermione's mouth opened and closed. A snort of laughter left her.

"How did we get into such a strange situation?" she asked.

Draco cocked his head, attempting to think of a decent retort.

"Trying to do something ri. . ." His sober voice broke off. His eyes darted to Hermione. She knew what he had meant to say, he could tell, but he didn't want to discuss it, not at the moment. He didn't feel like bringing up those who were both dead and gone. "When we were, uh, together, that is to say, reaching the end of our. . .activity last night, did you notice something strange?"

Hermione looked as if she had something else to say. She nodded, addressing his question instead. "Magic," she stated. "It almost tore the floor down. I'm not sure what caused it. But I've been thinking about that."

Her voice suddenly perked up. "Do you remember when I was carrying you and you asked if I was using magic to run?"

"What of it?"

"Well," she continued, "none of the books I read addressed it as magic. They addressed vampires as magical creatures but didn't actually explain how their abilities came into being. I have a theory." She sat up a bit straighter. "I think that the vampire species is a mutation of magic. A witch or wizard uses a wand to channel magic, but perhaps magic behaves differently when a person becomes a vampire. Its uses change, its properties are mutated—it's for that reason that the victims themselves appear to take on a change. It's actually magic at work, probably some division of the type of studies done in ancient times pertaining to the use of blood in magic."

Draco blinked. "Yes, alright. What?"

Hermione threw her head back in aggravation. "My point is," she began again, "that vampirism has never been studied as a type of deformed magic, though vampires have long been studied as a species. If I'm right, then there might be a way to reverse the harm done to ones magic, also reversing the effects of the vampire's bite."

"Some sort of cure," Draco breathed. He shook his head. "Wait, there's a flaw. Muggles can become vampires as well. If there's no magic to be mutated, how do they become vampires?

"Draco," Hermione sighed, "where do you think muggle borns come from? There's obviously some magic to muggles or there would be no new wizards coming out of them."

"Perfect," Draco snapped, "we're going to go into theory on magic genes now, are we?"

Hermione frowned. "I suppose someone who's a _purist _doesn't want to discuss a logical explanation."

Draco grew quiet.

The vampire stood from the bed, pointing an accusing finger at him. "See, that's what I'm talking about. Now would be a perfect time for you to going into a speech on pure-bloods and their perfectness, but, instead, you're dropping the subject. "

"I'm dropping it because someone as thick skulled as yourself wouldn't recognize good sense if it stuck a stake in you!"

"That was weak, Draco."

"I'm exhausted. Shut it."

Hermione shook her head.

Draco growled, jumping off of the bed. "Fine, fine—maybe I'm behaving a bit strangely, but it's not as if you can't say the same. For Salazar's sake, you bloody attacked me to get in my pants. That's not the bookworm I loved to hate, damn it!" His nostrils flared in sudden anger. " I've a right to fucking act different, Mistress Hermione-Fucking-Granger! I've been cast out by my own kind—I was going to be put to death in front of my family! And I was traded off to a vampire, a bone to the bloody dog. And now I've slept with someone I despised for my last few years of freedom!"

He released a heavy breath. "So quit telling me how odd I'm behaving. I know! Let it go already."

Hermione didn't speak, but Draco could see her eyes growing darker. She reached out to the side table, picking up two full vials. She handed them to him.

"Take this," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I picked them up in Hogsmeade when I first woke. It'll help your bones heal and renew you."

_My blood, she means_. Draco felt his throat ache at the thought.

"I'll be needing you again soon," she finished.

She left him to the night.

Draco leaned back and thought of leaving, again. But he couldn't muster up the strength. And he wasn't sure if he could go, if he wanted to. He uncorked the two vials and turned them up at once, swallowing them in one go.

If she needed him, he'd be ready.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Even Knockturn Alley was quiet in the dark, early hours of the morning, but it seemed loud to Holly's sensitive ears. She could hear the sound of breathing before a wizard hobbled out of his shop and across the road into the closest inn, and she could hear the rats scuffling about in attempt to gather scraps for their little ones. The vampire smiled to herself, strolling along, enjoying her senses.

It was fun to stroll. She hadn't been able to in a long time. Aurors were always so anxious when vampires were out and about, and rightly so. Many times an early riser would never make it to work the next day if a vampire decided on a _stroll_.

Holly's grin widened. The aurors weren't giving her kind much trouble these days, however. Most of them were preoccupied, and those who weren't were playing for the new boss's team.

Her steps came to a sudden stop, the blond, dollish curls above her bare shoulders still bouncing. She turned her head, her eyes surveying the gap between the buildings. It was four feet wide and lined with obstructions, abandoned crates, broken bottles. She stepped inside.

A hand grabbed her shoulder and pushed her against the slimy brick wall. She winced but her cheek, clamped against the cool stone, was still round with a smile.

"Did you miss me?" a voice hissed into her neck.

Before she could answer, teeth clamped onto her flesh, and she hissed through her fangs. The body behind her was pushing her into the wall, grinding against her in hungry excitement. She threw herself backwards, her skull connecting with the top of the other vampire's head. She took the moment to turn around, but before she could make another move, her assailant was against her again, this time face to face.

She smiled seductively. "Of course I missed you," she said.

Sanguini's face was expressionless a moment. Then he leaned in, grabbing her lips with her own and ravishing them.

She pulled back, putting a hand to his neck to slow him. "Releasing some steam?" she asked.

Sanguini snarled at her, stepping away. He hurled a fist through the air, striking the building and knocking a hole through the bricks. Holly could feel the stale air of the room on the other side filtering out through the new window.

Her smile didn't shrink. "I expect it didn't go well, then?"

The male vampire's eyes were a vivid red. "He," Sanguini hissed, "_threatened_ me. I took that girl for him, and he repays me with a _threat_."

"The Dark Lord wanted her brought to him," Holly reminded. "You decided to show her off at Darien's instead. A foolish move."

"Darien shouldn't have taken her from me!"

"Host's rules," Holly smirked.

Sanguini glared down at her. "It was not my fault the Dark Lord changed his mind," he hissed. "She was on the list of the ones he suggested we target," he snapped. "I alerted him when I captured her—he told me I could do as I wish. Then, apparently, his plans were changed. After I'd lost her, of course, he decides he wants her alive and brought to him."

"No doubt his mind was changed by that new right hand of his." Holly nodded in understanding. Lord Voldemort's worshippers held more sway over him than his vampire allies. "And when you told him that Darien would be doing away with her?"

"I told you," Sanguini said, "the Lord wants her alive now."

"Did you explain this to Darien?"

Sanguini smiled faintly. "He knew, I'm sure." The vampire shrugged. "I may have not been explicit before telling the Dark Lord that Darien had turned against us. That's what happens to my enemies."

Holly laughed softly. The sound was closer to bells than human mirth. "Nicely done," she said. "But I'm guessing you've been commanded to find the girl now."

Sanguini waved her words away. "I don't care what this Dark Lord says. My aim is to find Darien—forget the children. I shall stomp them when the chance occurs."

Holly clucked her tongue. "Not a good idea, lover."

Sanguini's brow furrowed. "What do you mean? The wizard holds no true sway over me, or do you think me a simply lapdog like his wolves?"

"Never," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I simply know something you may not."

His greedy eyes engulfed her. "Tell me."

"For starters, you're right, Darien is certainly alive," she said. She watching his rage grow a moment before continuing. "But here's something you don't know. You know how the old hag that Darien kept was dead when you arrived at the manor? Darien didn't do away with her, the children did. Darien's little dragon found a way of poisoning him. Darien's too weak to defend himself, but Annalisa has him hidden away somewhere."

"As I suspected," Sanguini spat.

"But Darien doesn't want to stay hidden. The children betrayed him. The one he'd chosen as a son _poisoned _him—he's out for vengeance." She moved closer to him, planting a soft kiss near his ear. "If you hunt down the children, Darien will come for you. Two for one, lover. It can't go wrong."

Sanguini caught her chin and brought her face up to his, kissing her with restrained zeal. He stepped back from her, his shadowed smile frightening.

"Go on," Holly said, gesturing for the Alley. "Go to the wizard and report. We can return to our fun later."

"I can promise as much," he said. His lustful eyes drew down the length of her body. "I owe you a great many things, Holly."

"I expect payment," she teased.

The vampire ran out of sight within a second, his form a blur in the night. Holly rested her hands on her hips, staring after him.

"An idiot," she announced, "but fun for a roll, nevertheless."

"I find him disgusting."

"But energetic," Holly countered.

She turned, watching Annalisa step out of the building, lifting her heavy velvet skirt over the broken sidewalk. Her face was devoid of emotion as she approached the other vampire.

"He didn't sense me," Annalisa confirmed. Her eyes darted to Holly. "Well done, Holly."

Holly cocked her head. "It was good idea, letting the lapdog do our hunting for us."

Annalisa extended her head in a gracious nod. "It was Darien's."

A moment of relaxed silence passed between the two of them.

"This," Holly conceded, "is going to be very fun to watch."

* * *

Draco wasn't sure when he'd nodded off, or why. He'd slept the day away, so, by rights, he should have been energetic, ready for the night. But his human body wanted to go back into a more common schedule. That or something was wrong with him, physically. He wasn't sure which.

Draco sat up, noticing that Hermione was standing at the foot of the bed, her attention on the tote bag she was holding. It was wide and brimming with goods, potions, food. A book peeked out from the its shadowed depths. He noticed, as well, that she had laid out clothes on the bed beside the bag.

"We're moving on?" he asked, somewhat surprised. It wasn't as if he enjoyed the shack, but it did seem to be a reasonable choice, at least for a short stay of a few days.

Hermione was quiet, her brow furrowed as she counted something within the tote.

"What are you doing?" Draco asked.

She looked up with wide eyes, as if she hadn't heard his first question. "Sorry, I'm not ignoring you. Though that would be within my rights after that last outburst of yours." Before he had a chance to reply, she answered him, "I'm making sure we have enough of the blood replenishing potion to last us. I think we should be fine for a few weeks. After that, however—hopefully, we'll be settled enough for me to brew it on my own."

_Weeks?_ Draco bit down the word, knowing that she had most likely picked up on his mental screech.

"Yes," Hermione said, shaking her head slightly as she closed the tote. "We've already been over this Draco. You're not getting away from me until after I help my friends win this battle. I don't care how much you hate me for it—and, as you well know, it will take a while to finish this thing for good. So, yes, weeks."

"Stay out of my head," Draco muttered.

"Please," she snapped. "You can block most of it, if you tried. You want me to hear your snarky remarks."

Draco shrugged slightly. "Back to my initial inquiry, then."

"We're going to see Harry."

Draco held back the growl, just barely. "Well, have fun with that, Granger."

Hermione's eyes shot up at the use of her surname, daring him to go further. However, her expression quickly lightened again. "I'm afraid the fun will be yours to be had. I need you to wear this when we finish."

She pointed out the stack of clothes. I looked like denim and a green, hooded jacket. Draco's face twisted in distaste. Muggle pajamas, formal clothing, yes, he could handle that, but these. . .

The thought of the common clothes was interrupted by her insinuation. "After what?"

The vampire didn't speak a moment, sitting the bag down on the floor. She approached him slowly, watching him as if he were some sort of wild animal that might escape into the woodland at any moment.

"I can't approach Harry, not directly. Not yet. I need you to send him a message. He'll be shocked, true, but he'll listen when you mention me. No doubt, he's worried," she explained.

She reached out cautiously, as if this time were more awkward than before, and touched Draco's matted hair gently. She was staring down at him. Taking in her eyes, Draco let a ragged breath escape his lips before he pulled his elbows out from under him, falling back against the pillow.

"What makes you think he won't kill me on sight?" Draco asked.

"He'll have his reasons," Hermione said. "I trust him. He won't trust you, however. He'll think it's a trap. But instead of turning you in, he'll pretend to go through with your plan. It's his way."

Draco couldn't believe he was going to go through with this. He thought that might have something to do with the woman leaning down over him. Draco couldn't help himself or his need to survive the coming ordeal. His hand moved up, catching one of her breasts before she could lower his lips onto his flesh.

"Hold off there," he said breathlessly. He knew her satisfaction equaled a longer life for him, but he couldn't stop the question. "What exactly is your plan?"

"After," she manage, her eyes fading to an almost glowing red. "I'll tell you after. I need to feed before I even think of meeting with Harry—nothing can go wrong, Draco."

She kissed his neck below his ear, her lips tracing down his skin to find his old scar. There was no need to leave yet another on his pale skin.

"I know it isn't important to you," she whispered against his pulsing flesh. "But I need this to work out. It's all I've got. In turn, it's all you have."

Draco took in her words, feeling himself tense before submitting. His finger ran a circle through the cloth, feeling her rising excitement against this thumb. His own was rising as well, somewhere further south.

She bit down and her hand moved over his stomach to find him. He sighed, his tired eyes closing in a swell of pleasure. And he knew he would do whatever she requested.

"Mistress," he breathed, and her mouth quickened against the wound.

**End Notes: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. You'll remember Holly from the vampire get-together in an early chapter? So, yeah, Harry and Draco chatting--that'll be a fun reunion. By the way, Blue Oyster Cult's "Don't Fear the Reaper" was playing through this chapter. **


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter 21**

He'd spent the first part of the day sleeping, the second part thinking about the upcoming afternoon stroll into Potterville.

Draco saw many flaws to her plan. The first of which being that her plan did not actually involve her risking life and limb. That was left to him. She was left to rest her vampiric eyes until nightfall in some abandoned home's cellar seven blocks away. Flawed and unfair, as he had told her.

His biggest concern was not the "golden boy" he'd be visiting. It was Potter's guardians. And Draco was not considering the muggle relatives as his old rival's guardians. He was certain that the late Headmaster's allies would be watching Potter at every turn. They would be looking for people just like Draco, and they were the kind to curse first, ask questions later, when it came to Death Eaters, even potential ones.

Hermione had confirmed this. And told him he was still going.

_Bitch_, Draco thought, when he remembered the smile she'd worn when he'd expressed his worry.

Draco swallowed hard, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Though the sun would be setting within the hour, he wore a pair of reflective sunglasses over his eyes to aid in covering his face. His hand lifted casually to assure that the hood of his jacket was still in place, knowing his blond hair would easily catch attention from watchful aurors.

As if the oddness of the muggle clothes were not disconcerting enough, he had to worry about using them to hide his identity from any curious on-lookers. He was only the slightest bit pleased that Hermione had been right; he was blending in rather well. The muggle neighborhood was crawling with kids and teens in similar clothes. Though holiday had already begun, the coming evening was already a bit breezy and the extra layer over him was in no way out of place.

"Still a horrible plan," Draco said, just beneath his breath.

_I wouldn't have to worry about bloody blending if I had a wand. One damn glamour is all it would take, but, NO, we have to do it the vampire's way. 'No time to find a wand!' Bloody stupid—how the hell did I ever get myself into this situation? I should be in France, on the beach with my parents. Not going defenseless into my enemy's home._

Draco's thoughts cut off, a woman's voice in his mind. "_Harry's not your enemy." _

"Get out of my fucking head!" Draco growled, under his breath.

A woman carrying her cat and her mail inside released a breathy tut when he passed, obviously hearing his outburst.

_Just bloody fantastic. _And he was reminded of why he couldn't just take off in the opposite direction. Hermione would find him as soon as darkness released her.

Draco lowered his head further and tried to clear his mind. He saw number four up ahead. It was a square house, slightly larger than its neighbors with a well groomed garden and a homey little drive to one side. Draco felt himself want to vomit a bit.

He stepped up to the front door, pausing before he knocked. Hermione had told him to take the letter out first. Draco pulled it out of his front pocket, holding it in front of his chest with one hand. He prepared to knock with the other—she'd told him to keep his hands where her friend could see them, as well. As if he didn't already know that. With a second thought, he turned from side to side, but, aside from a group of thuggish looking boys further up the sidewalk, no one appeared to be looking his way. He turned back to the door and slid the sunglasses off and pinned them onto his jacket. Finally, he delivered two brisk knocks.

Draco was arguing with himself, on whether he should ask for "Potter" or "Harry," either of which would feel odd on his mouth. He wondered if "Scar-head" would be acceptable. With that train of thought, he was expecting someone else to answer the door. One of the muggles Potter kept.

But it was Harry Scar-head Potter who answered.

The other wizard took him in within a split second, recognition followed by darting eyes to the front yard. The door almost closed in Draco's face. But instead, a wand was jammed against his stomach, and Potter kept the better part of his body behind the safety of the door in a quick act of caution.

"Malfoy," Harry hissed.

Draco didn't say a word, simply keeping his hands in front of him, as Hermione had commanded. Many choice phrases came to mind, however. He resisted the urge to reach for the wand, knowing that the other wizard would mutter a curse before a move was made.

"Hermione," Draco said. He would have added more, but he was afraid the other wizard's head might explode.

The name seemed to confuse Harry. Suddenly his brow lowered, his gaze narrow, dangerous.

"How many of you are there?" Harry nearly growled. Obviously, he'd taken his friend's name as either an insult or a threat.

Draco sighed, feeling weary. Hermione was right. Something was wrong with him; he should have been brimming over with snarky remarks by now.

"Hermione sent me. I'm wandless."

Harry's eyes widened slightly, as if in realization of the fact that no one had attacked yet. It seemed to surprise him. However, he was on his guard again in an instant. He reached out, grabbing hold of Draco's jacket and pulling him inside in one movement. Harry slammed the Slytherin against the wall furthest from the window, his wand still snug against him.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Harry snapped, his voice low. His eyes came back to the letter in the other wizard's hand. Harry released Draco to snatch it and whipped it open. "What's this?" Harry asked. "Some sort of trick?"

Harry's eyes darted from the open note to Draco and back again. He must have seen something that puzzled him, because he gestured with his wand for Draco to walk further into the house.

"What's that noise, Potter?" a gruff voice called from another, rather loud room.

"Nothing!" Potter called back, aggravation written across his face.

Draco raised a brow at that but said nothing. Harry started to lead him up the stairs but seemed to think twice of it, prodding him towards the bottom of the staircase instead.

"Open the door," Harry commanded.

Draco did so, walking into a tiny room beneath the stairs. He sneered in disgust at the small, closed quarters. It reminded him of a house-elf's quarters. In fact, it looked as if some creature had once inhabited it. Draco turned to face the other, wand-ready wizard, feeling somewhat awkward in the small space.

"What is this?" Harry said, shaking the letter. "What has he done with her?"

Draco wasn't quite sure how to answer that. Hermione had written the letter, and he wasn't quite sure what she had written in an attempt to convince Potter of her situation.

"The Dark Lord doesn't have her, Potter. She's free," Draco said, knowing his words were having no effect.

"Bullshit," Harry snapped.

Draco was tired of stooping in the space. He saw what resembled some sort of bed and sat on the edge of it, groaning slighting. _I don't know what the hell I'm doing here._

"We haven't got much time," Draco said, attempting to keep his voice level. His own frustration wasn't helping to dull the edge from his tone. "I know your people will be here soon as they hear you've had a visitor, so we need to speed things along. How much did she tell you in the letter?"

Harry didn't answer.

_Of course,_ Draco thought, _he probably thinks she was forced to write the letter. Have I told you what a bloody excellent plan this is, Hermione? _

Draco could feel her stirring in her sleep. She wasn't pleased with him so far.

"You're supposed to be dead," Harry finally said.

Draco blinked up at him. "Shit, Potter, I'm so very sorry to let you down. Obviously, those rumors are greatly exaggerated. I should be dead, though, by right. The Dark Lord was planning to do me in." Draco couldn't stop his mouth from moving. "In front of my mother," he added, unable to cut himself off. "I was traded to a vampire instead, for my disobedience, because I didn't kill Dumbledore. It was to punish my family."

_Hermione? Did you do that? Stop it!_

But she didn't. Draco felt her nudge him on. He could have attempted to resist her, but he wasn't sure if that was the best idea. Not while Harry had a wand pointed at his eye level.

"A vampire?" Harry asked. His fingers tightened around the letter slightly.

Draco assumed he was on the right track and let Hermione guide him on.

"The vampire wanted to keep me as a. . ." Draco began to rephrase. "The vampire was planning on turning me into one of his kind. While I was being held in his home, another vampire came, he brought Hermione with him. He'd captured her near her home. The vampire who'd taken me, Darien, he took her from the other vampire. "

Draco watched as Harry's face paled.

"He held the two of us in his manor," Draco continued. "We had no wands to defend ourselves, so we poisoned him and escaped."

Harry raised his brow. "Where is she? Where's Hermione?"

Alright, so Draco hadn't quite finished that story.

"While we were escaping, Darien attacked her," Draco said. His stomach rolled, remembering the moment. Remembering the blood, his own in the tub, hers on the floor, pumping out of her shoulder.

"Malfoy?" Harry's voice was laced in worry, but it wasn't directed towards his school yard foe. "Where is she?"

"Hiding," Draco answered. "She wants to meet with you, to tell you more."

"Say you're telling the truth," Harry began, "why would she ever send you? Why wouldn't she come herself? Hell, why wouldn't she send an owl instead of _you_?"

_Because she's afraid. _

"She has her reasons." Draco looked down. For some reason, the other young man's green eyes were too strong to hold. They burned holes through his skull. "She's different. The attack changed her."

Harry blinked. His wand lowered a fraction. "The vampire's attack?" he said.

Draco didn't answer. From the corner of his eye, he could see the other wizard. He knew Potter was putting it together.

"You're lying," Harry breathed.

Draco slowly reached up, tugging at the pull on the jacket's zipper. He slid it down and shook it loose from his shoulders. The movement jarred his sore arm, and he winced slightly. Draco unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and rolled his head to the side.

Harry's eyes widened before they even reached the skin. Little blossoms of blood had risen through the cloth from the fresh wound. Harry put his wand out, pushing the shirt's collar to the side. Scars, neat and curved, mounded over his skin. They hadn't had time to fully heal, and the flesh was red and swollen looking.

"What did they do to you?" Harry asked.

"What do you think, Potter?" Draco sneered.

Harry took a step back from Draco, nearly hitting his head on the doorframe behind him.

"Vampires." Harry seemed to be digesting the word. "Hermione. She. . .changed?"

Draco straightened, almost too quickly, a wave of dizziness passed over him. His fingers dug into the jeans' pocket. Harry didn't stop him from removing the small vial there. In fact, he didn't even question Draco when he uncorked it and took a sip of the dark liquid inside. Draco grimaced at the taste and put it back.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Everyone's asking that, these days," Draco groaned.

A moment later, the dizziness had faded and the blurriness left his vision.

"She needs to meet you," Draco said. She could feel Hermione moving again, in her sleep. He didn't enjoy the sensation. "And Weasley," he added. "She knows you're going to need help, in the coming battle or whatnot. She wants to help."

He felt an uneasiness at the blank expression on Harry's face.

"She needs you to see her, Potter."

Harry swallowed hard. "Alright."

**End Notes: I hope you enjoyed this one. Sorry for the lack of Hermione. More of that part in the next chapter. Drop me a line and tell me what you think. **


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter 22**

Draco turned the corner off of Privet Drive, crossing the narrow roadway, and glancing back over his shoulder with a look of distaste. Though the distance sound of a muggle siren had only slightly disturbed him, he could not help but feel that speeding vehicles were not the only things moving about in the darkness, just out of eye sight.

_I told bloody Potter not to follow,_ he nearly growled. He rolled his eyes at that thought. As if Harry would ever listen to him. Still, the other wizard had been oddly compliant by the time he sent Draco away; though worry had been apparent on Potter's face, he'd seemed somewhat. . .excited when he realized that he would be meeting with Hermione soon enough.

Draco hadn't told Potter where they were to meet. Obviously the letter had said something about a location. _That or Potter's going to have a very confused expression on his face right about now._

Draco chuckled to himself. Then the wind was knocked out of him by a metal bar across his abs.

The wizard bit his tongue to stop from crying out, realizing in an instant that it wasn't a bar but an arm around his stomach. And that Hermione had decided to pick him up.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, squinting as his surroundings moved far too fast.

She drew to a stop behind a wall of unmaintained hedge. Her eyes were fierce but not directed at the wizard. She stared out past the small leaves, glaring daggers at the nearly silent night beyond. There didn't appear to be anyone else on the yellow-lit sidewalk.

"I felt another vampire," she whispered.

Draco's blood ran cold. The first vampire who popped inside his head was Darien, but he chided himself for the moment of panic. Darien was dead, after all.

"I don't know who," Hermione answered, before he had the chance to ask. "Get inside—go through the kitchen door."

The vampire was on his tail as he moved towards the side door. The house between the hedges was not very different from the one on Privet Drive, though its lawn was not so well trimmed and its paint was rolling off like dead skin. It was empty of inhabitants, but, as the furniture and goods within told, only for a holiday. The general shabbiness of the square dwelling seemed to be the result of time and its owners' lack of caring.

Hermione nudged him through the doorway when he paused in the dark room. She quietly shut the door behind them and grabbed his elbow, gently leading him to the interior hallway, lit by a single lamp on the telephone stand.

"Someone was watching when you left earlier."

Draco raised a brow at the accusation. "I didn't see anyone."

"I know," she sighed, rolling her eyes at him, "but you sensed something." She slumped down on the carpeted floor, her back against the wall and her curling hair casting a shadow over her cheeks. Draco leaned against the wall, joining her. "It obviously wasn't the vampire, though, since he would have been asleep then. Perhaps someone from the Order?"

"I didn't see anyone, I said," Draco bit, aggravated.

"Your subconscious was worried," she said, knowingly.

"Have I mentioned how much I love your all-access pass inside my cranium?"

"It's not all access, Draco. Quit whining."

The vampire groaned, pulling her legs beneath her and throwing her hair back with a sweeping gesture that looked far too graceful for the task. An elastic band managed to hold back the massive mane. Draco watched her with open curiosity. Though she could have only of woken a quarter hour earlier when the sun had finally set, she'd already changed into casual muggle clothing and applied a layer of darker color—some sort of make-up, he assumed—over her white face. She was still far too pale, but the make-up made her appear at least somewhat living. It was a comforting effect in the dull lamp light.

"Did you raid the house?" Draco sneered. "Back to your thieving ways?"

"There weren't any clothes your size," she answered, looking bored. "You'll have to make do with what you have on. You'll probably have time for a shower before we move on. I could clean your clothes."

"You don't have a wand."

Hermione blinked, dumbfounded. "But we have a laundry machine. You honestly know so little about muggles? Do you think we all use wash-boards?"

It was Draco's turn to look confused. "What?"

"Never mind." She shook her head. "Tell me about your meeting with Harry. He's coming."

Draco noticed that the last part hadn't been a question. In fact, the vampire didn't really need to ask him any questions about the meeting. The wizard had felt her presence the entire time. He realized, with a slight feeling of ease, that she was trying to keep herself out of his head at the moment.

"The meeting place was in the letter?"

Hermione nodded. "In a way. Harry will understand."

"Good for him." Draco snorted in annoyance. "Well, care to fill me in?"

"Afraid you'll get lost?"

Draco jerked his head back, hitting the wall behind him in frustration. "Let me guess, you'll send me a little 'mental note'? Why don't you just 'tell' me now."

"Why?"

"I'm sure this is rather fascinating to a mu—muggleborn like you, but frankly, not everyone enjoys having their heads screwed with." Draco straightened up, suddenly remembering why he was so angry. "Speaking of which, what gave you the right to force me into telling Potter the whole bloody story?"

"You didn't tell him the whole story."

"I told him more than I would have liked."

Hermione cocked her head, a look of pity on her face. "I'm sorry I made you feel vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?" Draco stood to his feet, glaring at the witch. He neck was itching but damned well refused to scratch it at the moment. "I didn't feel vulnerable! The information wasn't necessary."

"What would you have preferred to tell him?"

"That you're a vampire! That's all—he didn't need to know about Darien and our shitty situation."

Hermione slid her back up the wall, not breaking eye contact with the wizard. "And you think that would have worked out well? Come now, you know him so well. Tell me, would your half-assed explanation sate him? No."

Draco looked down like a scolded child, his cheeks hot with anger. He opened his mouth to speak.

_Quiet! _

He looked up, alarmed at Hermione's mental cry.

"Someone's coming," she whispered against his ear, moving closer. She pushed him through the doorway next to the table and left him, turning off the lamp and moving to the second room, closer to the back door to act as guard.

_Humans_, her voice informed him.

Draco felt his heart beat slow ever so slightly when he heard her. He swallowed hard, lifting a wall of panic over his thoughts to block her out. He could feel Hermione trying to break through, but he shut his eyes, listening to the sound of the back door opening instead.

A small grin crossed his face when he realized that she couldn't get to him if he tried hard enough.

"Are you sure it was the same boy?" a woman's voice asked.

Draco nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound. He put a hand against his lips to mute the curse at his lips. He didn't dare look out the doorway to the hall, so he hugged the wall instead. After a moment, he realized that Hermione hadn't attacked the intruders yet and calmed down. Had she recognized them?

"Harry said it was his cousin's friend, but Arabella didn't recognize the boy," a man replied.

The voice was one Draco recognized right away. _The werewolf._ He felt his body grow rigid at the realization. If it was Remus Lupin speaking, then he could only assume that the somewhat familiar voice of the woman with him belonged to his unclaimed cousin, Nymphadora Tonks. _Shit—the Order. The vampire was right, damn it._

"You think Harry lied? Why?" Tonks asked.

Draco sucked in a breath, realizing that the pair was moving closer, past the table. When he cocked his head forward, he could see the back of their robes.

"Something was on his mind. He was acting strange. As for the why, I can't be sure," Lupin replied. Draco watched the man reach out and touch the lamp gently. "Warm. Someone was here."

There was the strange, whistling sound of an inhaled breath. And Lupin stopped in his tracks.

"You smell something?" Tonks asked. "Is that a wolf thing?"

Lupin released a strained chuckle. "Doesn't quite work like that. But, yes, I thought I smelled something."

The wizard had paused and squatted down, picking something up off the ground. He held it out to his companion.

"A vial?"

"Potion," Lupin replied. "Something with clovers fighting the rancid scent of aged bloodroot. Probably some sort of healing potion."

Draco tapped his hoodie's pocket, eyes wide when it flattened.

"Looks like the bottle's nearly empty," Lupin continued. "Smells a bit like blood replenishing potion."

_Oh, for Salazar's sake, I can't believe I dropped that. . ._

"In a muggle home," Tonks noted, her voice lower. "Good thing you followed your instinct."

Draco released a shallow breath when the duo continued to move, turning to investigate the staircase near the front of the house. The wizard peeked out past the doorframe. He could still see Tonk's hair, blue in the faint light from a window, as she stood on guard, surveying the living room. Draco glanced back over his shoulder. Two red eyes glared at him from within the next room.

He felt Hermione pleading him to stay still, but he moved one arm out of the shadows, touching the lamp's small table. A pad of paper and a short pencil were sitting next to the telephone. He pulled them down, jotting down a sentence.

He glanced back again and a sharp pain shot between his eyes. He sucked in a shocked breath, nearly falling against the legs of the table.

_Stop it, Draco! Don't do this! _

Draco glared down the hallway, knowing the vampire could see him perfectly.

_Fuck off! _He slid the notepad down the hallway, away from Hermione. It came to a plopping stop a pace from Tonks' boot.

The auror had heard the sound and a bright wand's light swept down the hall and over Draco's stunned face.

"_Stuplify!"_

A vivid flash flew towards his head, barely missing him. Before a second curse could be fired, a blazing pain ripped through his shoulder, shocking a scream out of his lips. Blood sprayed the side of his face, and he was pulled through the shattered backdoor and into the night.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Happy back to school season. *Wipes brow* Ok, well it looks like I've got the outlining mostly done for this story. According to my notes, it's going to be around thirty chapters. I'm very sorry for the late update. . Oh, and please drop me a line after you read—I'd really like to know if you like where I'm going with this. It's much appreciated.**

**Chapter 23**

"_Draco!"_

The wizard's head lolled to the side, loose gravel dropping off his slick skin. "Class starts at nine," he groaned.

"Oh, Merlin, Draco, you passed out while I was running—you scared me! Wake up, already!" Hermione hissed. "We don't have time for this."

Draco felt himself stirring to consciousness, and his mind was suddenly aware of his body's pain. The cold heat of an open wound was fanned by the sudden presence of a weighty pressure. Hissing through his teeth, his eyes flickered opened, watching the vampire push a scrap of cloth down onto his shoulder. He was fairly certain that his 'fractured' collarbone had been snapped in two.

"Where are we?" he growled, trying to remember why he was so angry with the woman bent over him.

"Between two stores, still in Surrey." Hermione's expression was dour. "Why did you do that, Draco? What were you thinking?"

The wizard raised a brow. He had a feeling that she wasn't expecting an actual answer. "I thought it would be fun to separate my arm from my body, I suppose."

She released her tight hold on the wound. He grimaced when the cool night air crawled inside the cuts. When he looked back at her, he saw that her guilty eyes were on her blood-caked fingernails.

"I didn't mean to hurt you so badly," she whispered, as if someone had passed by their little alleyway. "I was just trying to get out of there before Tonks saw us. I don't think it worked, though. I think she saw your face."

"Bullshit, Hermione." Draco threw his head back against the damp black top. "You were angry, and you wanted to punish me."

"Not like that," Hermione insisted. "But you made that noise, and when she turned. . . I just reacted." She shook her head, as if telling herself to move on. "Let me help you up."

Draco complied, looping his good arm around her neck so that he could get onto his feet. He growled at the pain slithering across his torso. It felt as if tiny daggers were scraping under the skin. Hermione led him to the closest wall and propped him against it.

She stepped away from him, turning her back to his crippled form.

Draco swiped his own blood off of his chin, holding the messy hand out towards her back. "What? You hungry again?" he mocked.

She growled, turning to glare at him. Her eyes flashed a livid red. "That's not it! Draco, I'm sorry I hurt you," she bit. "But I'm not going to be able to stop myself so long as you keep making stupid decisions. Now, I need you," she said, "to tell me what you wrote on that notepad."

Draco looked out the corner of his eye, noting the bags of rotting foodstuffs and paper containers beside a door in the wall. Something told him that the restaurant it inevitably led to was probably closed and the lock slid into place.

"There's no way you'll outrun me—your foot and leg are still injured."

Draco felt the statement was supposed to end with the word "idiot," but he didn't press it.

"Why?" he began. "Why did you run from them? It wasn't like they were Death Eaters. Why would you run from your own friends? And don't even bother saying it has something to do with Potter."

"It does!" Hermione snapped. "I. . ." She looked away, her eyes glittering in the moonlight. "Do you honestly think they'd want a vampire helping Harry?"

"But they're like you, you all belong to the same bloody do-gooder's club. They could probably help you with your problem," Draco answered. His expression softened when he saw her face drop. "Or are you afraid they'd be right, that you're too dangerous to help King Potter take his crown?" He released an uneasy breath. "That's it, isn't it? You think you're dangerous."

Her eyes darted up, wet with unshed tears. "Look at you, Malfoy. You've said it yourself, more than once."

"You wouldn't do this to your friends," Draco answered.

Hermione's eyes widened with disgust. "Draco. . . I don't want to do it to you! And I don't know that for sure, that I wouldn't hurt them."

"You would," Draco agreed, "hurt them. Most likely." He gave a pained smirk. "If you didn't have a distraction from your hunger, that is."

A silence grew between them. The vampire stepped forward, taking his hand gently. She forced a small smile. "Thank you," she said, "for that."

She inclined her head, her lips kissing the red smear from his thumb. With cool, gentle fingers, she lifted his palm to her face, letting her cheek rest against his pulsing capillaries.

"How did we get here?" she asked, her voice barely a mutter. "How did we ever get here?"

Draco felt his face heat at her touch, at her little kiss. "I don't know," he replied. Honestly. There was no explanation he could give. Why was it that he wasn't disgusted by her? Or filled with hate? Where was his anger hiding?

_It's the blood between us_, her voice answered.

She shut her eyes a moment, her nostrils wide as she inhaled his scent.

"We can't stay here," she stated, breaking away from her want. The vampire held back her lust. "I might have thrown them off a bit, but they'll catch up soon enough."

"What are you afraid off?" Draco asked, thinking of the werewolf. Surely that man would understand what Hermione was feeling. "Really?"

Her eyes were filled with remorse.

"Oh," Draco breathed, suddenly recognizing the expression as something more: shame. He knew that one well. "You're afraid they'll find out about us. About the feeding, and the other stuff."

Hermione released his hand. He'd shattered the moment, and she was cold again. Dead. "I need to know if it's still safe to meet with Harry," she explained. "What did you tell Tonks in that note, Draco? Why are you blocking that from me?"

"Because I can," Draco sneered, though he didn't feel up to the expression. "It's nothing that concerns you."

"Draco," she warned.

"Fine," he snapped. He felt the heat moving to his eyes, burning beneath the lids. "I told her. . . I signed my name to it, and I told her to tell my mother. Tell her I was alive." He bit his gum. "Mother probably doesn't know. I don't think the others would have said anything. And she wasn't there the night I was taken."

Warmth rushed over him, and he knew it didn't come from within. He'd dropped the wall between himself and the vampire, and she was pushing her heart against his. He felt wetness against the length of his nose and swiped it away bitterly.

"Isn't that sweet."

The wizard's heart jumped against his ribs, and he looked up so quickly that his neck crackled. Hermione was at his side in an instant, blocking him from the creature in the shadows. Draco peered over her short shoulder, watching wide-eyed as Sanguini stepped out from behind the building, his boots clicking against the ground.

"So good to see you children bonding," he smiled, a deep chuckle at his bobbing throat. The vampire's eyes were narrow, expressing a strange mixture of contempt and glee. "Imagine my surprise, children. I set my nose after you two, tracked you down, and I smell, instead of two living beings, a human and a vampire in the same company."

"We're not your concern, Sanguini," Hermione bit.

"Yeah, so go the hell away," Draco added.

Sanguini shook his head, smiling, as if some outrageous joke had been told. "And to find that the vampire was not the little dragon but the girl—the meal becomes the mistress. How very amusing that was."

The smile on his face had dropped, though. "The Dark Lord isn't going to be pleased with me. You see, I'm to deliver you, Ms. Granger, alive. But it seems that is impossible. It will pain me to break the news of your demise to him."

"Your condolences aren't needed," she hissed. She hunched forward, lowering her body to prepare for an attack. "Crawl back to Voldemort and deliver the news, already."

Sanguini raised a narrow brow, grinning. "Oh, but I have other plans. You two were very naughty children, and I expect that your father will be eager to find you. At least, that's what I'm counting on."

Draco shivered against Hermione's back, a voice screaming at the back of his mind. He blocked it, his rapid pulse against his ears, holding back the noise.

"Darien's dead," Hermione said. "I thought you knew that, since you burned him and all."

Draco touched her arm. One glance into his gray eyes told her the reply before Sanguini had a chance to form it: Darien was alive.

"But we didn't, Ms. Granger," Sanguini explained. "I know that you poisoned him, but it seems that wasn't enough. He was missing by the time we arrived." The vampire's voice lowered, his eyes dark when they met Draco. "Don't worry, though, he won't have time to punish you. When he hears you screaming for mercy, he'll come out of hiding to finish you off. Then, I'll have a little word with my old friend about taking what isn't his."

Hermione stood a bit straighter. "You plan to use us as bait?"

"Well, the Dragon, at least." Sanguini shrugged, a small grin on his face. "Your ashes will be going to the Dark Lord before Darien has a chance to collect them."

Draco wanted to reply, but a wave of nausea swept over him, forcing his mouth shut. _Dragon_. . . _Answer me, Dragon. _ The wizard ground his teeth and swallowed to stop the acid from coming up his throat. Darien was there, somewhere inside him, calling to him. But Draco refused to listen, seeing instead the image of Darien bleeding out, paralyzed on the pale bathroom floor as he was fed to Hermione. Draco opened his eyes to the reality before him a split second before Hermione's coiled body impacted with Sanguini's unprepared form.

Darien's voice was silent again, replaced with Hermione's once more. _I don't know if I can hold him off!_

"I'm not leaving," Draco whispered, knowing that both of the vampires could hear the words.

"Good," Sanguini growled, catching the woman with both hands.

The newsprint pages of the early paper were caught in the air as the two beings moved, gripping each other in a vice and turning in some great circle far too fast. Draco watched them dance a moment, stunned by the beauty of their twisting bodies, pushing back and forth and from side to side. The hypnotizing grace of their movements was destroyed when Hermione was separated and thrown against the locked door. It shattered around her form, splinters and green, moldy paint catching in her wild hair and piercing her skin. She caught herself on the thin frame, yanking off the board against her hand as she jumped forward.

Draco flinched when he saw the male vampire's muscles tense for a blow. Hermione was strong, very much so, but Draco was under the impression that she didn't have much experience in fighting without the use of a wand. He turned away before Hermione made contact with the other vampire, knowing already what was coming.

Sanguini caught her with a defending arm before throwing a hard slap at her face and knocking her aside. His left leg whipped out, connecting with her back and forcing her head to slam into the opposite wall with a sickening crack that traveled the length of her body. She bounced off of the brick, falling to the ground without a sound. Sanguini stepped over her form, not bothering to look down.

The vampire set his eyes on Draco, baring his fangs with a predator's sure smile. The wizard could have run. But he wouldn't have gotten far. Instead, he slid down the wall, sitting with a thud on the ground and staring up at the approaching creature.

"Where's that smart tongue of yours now?" Sanguini snarled.

Draco opened and closed his mouth, wondering what his last words should be. Then he caught the movement behind him and decided that he didn't need them after all. Draco's eyes followed the three foot strip of wood in Hermione's raised hands. It disappeared in an instant and reappeared, wet and slick, out of Sanguini's chest. Sanguini collapsed on his side with a stunned expression on his face. As if in protest, he clawed at the hard ground and sputtering blood and curses. Draco pulled his legs away from the creature, glancing down to find himself once again sprayed with red.

"I'll be back," Hermione assured.

Draco didn't question her when she hobbled through the door to the restaurant. It must have been the cook's exit because she returned with a square cleaver. Draco followed the silver gleam of the blade and pushed himself along the wall, out of Hermione's way.

"Let's make sure this time," she explained. Her hand hesitated only a moment before she slung the blade down into the other vampire's thick neck. Sanguini grew still.

Hermione rolled his body over with her foot before dragging herself to Draco's form. She slid down the brick, sitting at the wizard's side. Draco could see her better in the moonlight, and his mouth grew dry. Her forehead was split down the middle, light, thin blood pouring between her eyes and over her nose. Draco reached out, catching her shoulder to hold her up.

"Hermione?" he questioned. "Can you hear me?"

Her eyes were unsteady and squinted against the pain, but her head moved up and down in a slight nod. She touched her head with prodding fingers, wincing. When her hand came away soaked, she reached into her front pant's pocket, withdrawing a tiny vial that, amazingly, remained unbroken.

"I don't think that works on your kind," Draco said.

She pushed it into his hand. "I'm sorry," she managed. It was a request.

"Don't be," Draco said, unwilling to try and stop her this time.

He pulled out the slender cork and tipped the bitter liquid onto his tongue, swallowing. When the taste was only a ghost on his lips, he slid his hand along her body and cupped the back of her head, pushing her face down against his neck. A sharp breath escaped his lips when she dig into his open wound instead, more viciously than before, swallowing deeply and without pause. The dizziness took him over in seconds and he felt himself falling backwards and the vampire falling forwards, crushing him.

He gasped, kicking out, but she only tucked her knees into his sides, straddling him. Draco remembered it again, the night Darien had made his great mistake in touching Hermione. Draco had been awoken that night to teeth in his neck. This felt the same. So much—lust, life, hate—all of it there and spilling out of him and into her. The wizard felt his warmth fading, even as the potion tried to work its magic.

His foggy gaze caught a bright, red light a moment before it slammed into Hermione's back, tossing her against the wall and tearing her teeth from his skin. Draco's shock couldn't have been any greater than Hermione's. She dodged the next spell cast her way, landing several feet from her companion.

Draco could hear the sound of footsteps at the alley's entrance, but he cocked his head back to see Hermione, instead. A hurt expression wrinkled her porcelain skin, healed of the wide wound that had been there a minute earlier.

"Hermione?" breathed a man's voice.

Draco didn't have to look that way to see Lupin's face. He knew what it must look like. He could see it reflected in Hermione's eyes, the disgust and horror, and the disappointment. Her sad eyes found Draco's and pleaded him to stand.

"I can't run," he tried to say, grasping at his bleeding shoulder.

Hermione's broken expression turned to stone. _I'll find you_, she promised, jumping to her feet like an animal. She was a blur, disappearing through the restaurant's exit, her feet barely hitting ground.

Draco heard the footsteps closing in and reached out, grabbing the leg of the closest person, Lupin. He fully expected to be kicked, but the older wizard came to a dead stop, instead, shouting out for his partner to do the same.

"Nymphadora, wait! We'll send a locating charm after her. We can't catch up to. . .one of the those on foot," Lupin breathed, pulling his foot free of Draco's grasp. However, his eyes were not on the wizard but the decapitated vampire a few feet away.

"Malfoy—it was him, Remus, at the house. I told you I saw his face," Tonks huffed, wiping the sweat off her blue hair and taking to one knee beside the wizard. She had her wand out, defensively. Draco attempted and failed to glare at her as his pockets were patted. "No wand," she said. "Remus, he needs a healer."

Lupin stared down at Draco in disbelieve. "Hermione Granger," he said, shock in the too-old eyes that had found the bite in the younger wizard's shoulder. "Was it really her. . .? She did this?"

"Remus, snap out of it!" Tonks interrupted. "We need to move him, now," she insisted. "He might have injuries I can't heal."

Draco shook his head. "Potter," he managed, fighting off the fatigue of blood loss. "Potter can explain it. . .explain her. Ask him."

Lupin shook his head. "You'll have to try to patch him up," he said, glancing at Tonks with a solemn frown. "We can't take him somewhere as public as a hospital if there's any way around it. He's supposed to be dead, after all. And not by our hands."

"What was he saying about Harry explaining. . .Hermione?" Tonks asked, a frown on her face. "Would Harry really have lied about having Draco Malfoy in his house?"

The werewolf's eyes were dark. "Let's find out."


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: I hope everyone liked the last chapter. I wasn't too sure, since it didn't get much of a response. Thanks for reading, though. **

**Chapter 24**

_Death would be a reprieve._

It wasn't Darien's voice, and it certainly wasn't Hermione's. Draco's foggy mind repeated the line. He'd heard it somewhere before—perhaps in a book? But who was speaking it? Draco bit down a laugh when the answer came to him: it was his own voice. Had it really been that long since he'd heard _himself_ think?

He had to admit, his mind was right. Death would, in its own depressing way, be a reprieve from the nagging voices that had awoken him. Back and forth, back and forth. They'd been fighting for over thirty minutes, the entirely of Draco's "nap." He felt as if his head might, at any second, explode from the sound alone.

"I don't know what you think I know, but you're wrong! Hermione wouldn't do this, not even to Malfoy," Harry spat.

"She could have killed him—she _would _have killed him if we'd not stopped her!"

"You. Are. Wrong!"

Draco could have sworn he'd dreamed the entirely of this conversation already. He had arrived at the house with Tonks and Lupin to find that Potter's muggle caretakers had went out for the evening. Harry was, to say the least, shocked to see the group at his door. Before the interrogation could begin, Draco had chosen to pass out. A rather good decision, he determined upon waking.

"Harry, there's no questioning it! We know exactly what we saw out there. Now, you must, Harry, you must tell us what you know about this situation. Have you had contact with Draco Malfoy or Hermione Granger in the last few days?"

"I've already told you my answer."

"Why would you lie to us, Harry? I know Hermione was your friend, but that's not her anymore, not as far as any of us know. Look at what she did!"

"You're wrong—Malfoy will tell you as much when he wakes up!"

Draco winced at the high pitch of Potter's voice, and his eyes flickered open. His head was lolled to the side, and he could see Lupin and Potter in the other room, standing head to head in a shouting match. He would have found the situation extremely amusing if his whole body wasn't aching from the patchy healing job his removed cousin was providing.

He felt Tonks' wand graze his bare upper chest and looked down his form. His shirt was open, tucked neatly under his body, and it appeared as if the blood had been entirely cleaned from his form, except for that welling up over his wound. He swallowed, tasting the bitter remains of blood replenishing potion.

Tonks sighed, staring down at the white, scarred skin with a wrinkled brow. The auror didn't seem to notice the open gray eyes watching her face. Draco opened his mouth to speak.

"So thin," she muttered, interrupting him. "Like a sack of bones. What happened to you, Malfoy?"

Draco frowned, annoyed with her concern. It wasn't that bad. Was it? "And you're looking a bit pudgy these days, if we're being quite honest with one another," he piped.

Tonks jumped, nearly dropping her wand onto his stomach. She blinked, shaking away her startled reaction. "You're awake? And I'm not pudgy."

Not waiting for his reply, she called over her shoulder. "Quiet!"

Harry and Lupin's argument came to a sudden stop. Tonks cleared her throat, as if to cleanse the air of the heated discussion.

"Remus, I need you," she requested, her voice softer.

Lupin approached, opening his mouth, as if to greet Draco. He seemed to realize that he nothing to say, and turned instead to Tonks.

"I can't heal some of these," she said, her eyes darting to Draco's neck. She glanced up back up at Lupin with worried eyes.

The older wizard shook his head, scratching at the gray stubble growing onto his cheeks. "No," he answered, "I'm afraid you won't be able to. Vampire bites are rather permanent."

_Nothing new there_. Draco rolled his head back, seeing Potter standing to Lupin's side, his face downcast.

"But some of them are. . .older looking," Tonks said, her confusion written on her face. "And why are there so many?"

Draco refused to answer that the new ones were the result of a few wild nights in bed with a vampire. That would simply be too awkward.

"Then Ms. Granger must have become a vampire directly after her abduction," Lupin breathed, a look of grief wrinkling the edges of his lips.

"No she didn't. There not all from her," Draco snapped. He swallowed hard, mentally scolding himself. Why in Merlin's name had he felt the need to correct the werewolf?

"Tell them, Malfoy," Harry pleaded . "Tell them that Hermione wasn't trying to kill you. They think she's some sort of beast."

"I didn't say that, Harry," Lupin said, his voice restrained. "I said that she is different and that she is dangerous, even to you. It's not her fault, but it's true, nevertheless."

"You can't just report her to the Order as if she's some dog that needs brought in. She's still Hermione. Ask Malfoy. Just ask him."

Draco blinked. _Well,_ _Hermione, surprise, surprise. Looks like Potter believes in you. _ But Draco couldn't stop the feeling of doubt he had. Lupin wasn't entirely wrong. Hermione was dangerous. If the werewolf hadn't arrived when he did. . . Hermione had been drinking far too fast.

"She wasn't trying to kill me," Draco said, his voice hoarse.

Harry released a breath of relief, allowing himself a small smile at the confirmation.

"I'm sorry, Harry, but he can't be trusted to answer with the truth," Lupin snapped.

"Excuse me?" Draco sneered.

Lupin refused to look down at him, staring at Harry instead. "Mr. Malfoy may believe his answers to be sincere, but his judgment cannot be trusted. I have to assumed that he's been _bound_ to a vampire."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked, sharing a glance with Draco.

"It means," Lupin explained, "that his will is not his own. His master can control him. He could very well be under a vampire's thrall. That is the reason why we must be very careful. Draco could be obeying the orders of the vampire who. . .changed Hermione."

Harry glared at his old professor. "Or under Hermione's orders?"

Lupin nodded. "In theory, yes. But, that isn't necessarily good, Harry."

"No," Harry said, slowly, "I suppose not."

"You're full of shit—I'm not under anyone's orders! Hermione's a vampire, but she's in control of herself. You're her bloody friends. Can't you give her the benefit of the doubt?"

Draco expected his anger to be answered with anger, but instead he found a weary sadness in Lupin's eyes. "Hermione, is it?" He sighed, as if the use of the name had somehow confirmed his theory. "I'm sorry, Draco. I really am. But we must consider you a vampire's victim. I can't let what you have to say sway my judgment."

"You're making a mistake."

"I sincerely hope not," Lupin said.

He turned back to Tonks. "We'll need to move him soon," he said, his voice quieter. "We should get in contact with Kingsley first, though. It seems his recent problem with the vampire community has become our problem as well."

Draco rolled his eyes, his body shaking with frustration. He felt a tap on his sore shoulder and looked back to see Harry slowly stepping closer. Draco raised a questioning brow.

Harry held his wand behind his leg and waved his free hand, silently asking for Draco's in return. Draco glanced the pair beside him. Tonks and Lupin were speaking in hushed tones, paying no attention to Harry. Slowly, Draco pulled his hand out from under his shirt folds, drawing it towards his shoulder. He felt Harry's fingers grab on to his wrist in a tight clench. Magic stiffened in the air a moment before the two young wizards popped out of existence.

**

* * *

  
**

The room was old, the scent of mold and damp earth heavy in the air. Sod spilled out between the cracks in the stone walls. He was somewhere deep, somewhere cold, where magic's healing touch was closer.

Darien stretched his spine against the back of the wooden chair, his body crackling and groaning in the strain. He relaxed his aching muscles again, blinking into the darkness of the windowless quarters. Though there was no light directly in the room, he knew his way back to his bed as if the path was lit. And he also knew Annalisa was with him.

"I heard you on the steps," Darien said.

"I must be losing my edge, my sweet one." She chuckled, loudly swaying her the skirt of her dress as she approached. Her legs slipped between his parted knees and she perched herself on the arm of his chair. Darien lifted his arm, his hand grasping at the clothed thigh above his leg.

"I thought Holly would be feeding me next," he said.

Annalisa placed her soft hand on his matted black hair, patting him gently, as if he were a wounded dog. "Darien, I'm here to bring you news."

"My dragon lives," he said, with certainty. "I heard him today. Something blocks me from speaking to him, though."

Annalisa grew quiet. "Darien," she said, her voice soft. "Sanguini's body was found in Surrey. The new vampire killed him."

Darien's body stiffened. "And the children? Were they found there as well?"

"You know the answer already."

"I want them brought to me," Darien said, his voice dangerously low. His icy hand trembled above her leg.

"The girl, she's very young, strong and well fed, it seems. Still, I'm surprised she defeated Sanguini so easily," Annalisa mused. "She's drawing the extra strength from another." She paused, leaning forward so that a soft curl of her hair tickled his cheek. "I am sorry, Darien. I know you coveted him as your own."

Darien growled, pushing her off of his lap. "Are you saying they're _bound_ to one another? Is that what you're saying, Annalisa?"

"What do you think stops your dragon from doing your will? What do you think blocks your voice from his mind? He is your new daughter's plaything now."

The arm of the chair crumbled under Darien's touch. He tightened his grasp on the splinters, his body shook with contempt.

"Do you really value him so?" Annalisa asked. "He did poison you. And he left you for dead."

"And, if I had poisoned you, mistress? When I was a man?" Darien growled.

She chuckled again, her footsteps echoing as she crossed the room. She stopped at the exit. "I would have treasured you even more," she admitted, looking back into the blackness. "But I would never have shared you with another."

"Then we'll simply have to sever the second bond."

Annalisa's smile was heard in her voice. "I'll bring you your wizard, my sweet. Rest now. You'll need your strength when I return."

**End Notes: Feel free to feed the author :D lol. Feedback is much loved and often rewarded with a cookie. **


	25. Chapter 25

_**A/N: Well, I'm back from my extended NaNoWriMo vacation, haha. **_

**Chapter 25**

"I hate you," Draco said.

Harry glared. "As if I haven't heard that before."

Draco huffed but slipped the maroon button-up on over his scarred skin, looking down at the gold diamond pattern on its mole-skin texture as if it were demonic. _More_ muggle clothing. Of course. And in _Gryffindor _colors. But he found one small relief: no pain through his arms as he pulled them through the sleeves. At least his cousin had mended most of his wounds, the ones she could mend, before his little disappearing act with the Golden Boy.

"But I mean it this time," the blond finally hissed, though it lacked strength and left Harry wearing a snide grin.

The boys stepped out of the building's shadow, no evidence of their quick robbery left behind as they jogged across the empty street towards the line of buildings. An older couple passed by them, paying them no attention, but their pace quickened, nevertheless.

This was the third location that they'd apparated to, this time with the intent of finding Draco new clothing (the ragged mess he'd been wearing was not even worth transfiguring, in Harry's opinion). Their various disappearing acts were done in hopes of throwing off any unlikely followers. The quick and nauseating journey had left Potter with a curtain of sweat plastered hair over his brow and both young men exhausted. They'd remained nearly silent until Harry suggested he enter the store for a change of shirts.

Harry reached back, grabbing Draco's arm in preparation for another apparation, but the other wizard pulled loose.

"Where are we going?" Draco snapped. "Do you even know, or do you simply intend on making circles around muggle London for the rest of the evening?"

Harry blinked in surprise. "Where Hermione told me to meet the two of you. I'm assuming she'll be waiting for us there. Correct?"

Draco nodded once, his brow wrinkled. "But where exactly is this meeting place?"

"You mean, you don't know?"

"I didn't read the letter," Draco said. At Harry's look, he rolled his eyes._ Hermione, I might not forgive you for leaving me with Potter. _ "Hermione wrote it; I just delivered it. I assumed I would be with _her_ at this point, not _you._"

Harry stared at him a moment longer before producing the letter from his pocket. "Knockturn Alley," he said, before giving the note over. "An inn."

Draco scanned the words, finding the address. "I've been there before." He snorted in realization. "Of course, I have. . . She probably plucked the bloody location from my mind."

"She can do that to you?" Harry asked, his voice quieter when he heard a drunkard trip over his own feet ahead of them.

"Didn't you listen to your werewolf friend?" Draco returned, his throat suddenly dry. "As you well know, Potter, she can get in my head."

"So, you're really not to be trusted then?"

"As if you ever did?" Draco sneered.

"Noted." Harry shook his head, as if trying to bite down the dark amusement surfacing in his grin. "You're still too much of a prat to be entirely under her control. Are you ready to apparate now?"

Draco paused, frowning. "You should probably know. . . Lupin was right about her as well. She's different. But the same." He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, frustrated that his admission wasn't making sense. "What I mean to say is, she's dangerous, Potter. She knows it just as well. She. . .I think she wants you to keep that in mind." Draco resisted the urge to scratch the healing bite mark over his shoulder, shaking the sensation off. A wave of bitterness passed through him as he added, "She doesn't want to hurt her _friends_."

Harry's grip tightened on the wand he held against his leg. He reached out with his free hand, snatching Draco by his sore shoulder. "Let's go."

**

* * *

  
**

The night air was smothering in the Alley, thick with a draping fog that looked yellow in the rare light from the closed shops. Two masculine, slender figures moved against the heavy veil, slipping like shadows from one building's front to the next, attempting to avoid the late night stragglers of the magical world, the homeless and the dangerous. Thankfully, the sidewalks were nearly empty in both Diagon and Knockturn Alley of late, as rumors of dark creatures and Death Eaters had begun to circulation.

The two boys slipped down a narrow path between two buildings, moving through the maze of brick-roofed pathways as silently as wraiths. They stopped in front of a set of wooden stairs that zig-zagged up the side of the inn, stopping at several doors with numbers upon them. The steps seemed to sway slightly, though there was no wind to stir them, and creaked, breaking the night's quietness.

"This is it," Draco whispered. "Here, the back entrance is used more often than the front. It's a very. . .private establishment."

Harry shot him a disbelieving look, shaking his head. "We'll wait here."

"For who?"

"Ron," Harry replied, as if that should have been obvious.

Before Draco could reply, the subtle sound of a nearby footstep caught Draco's attention.

"Harry?"

Draco jumped, nearly tripping backwards onto the stairs when he saw the figure approaching behind. Harry turned, wand out, and lit. But the tuff of red hair soon put him at ease. Ron Weasley stepped out of the fog, staring first at Harry and then to Draco in brief shock.

"I thought you'd gone mad when I got your letter," Ron breathed. "I mean, Malfoy?"

Harry shrugged. "Believe it or not."

"Not, I think," Ron said, throwing the blond a look of despite. "But, if it leads to finding 'Mione, I'll go with it."

"How did the Weasel here know to show?" Draco sneered. The act seemed to exhaust him, and he leaned against the stairs' railing, chipped paint falling like rain drops where his elbow brushed it.

"I sent him a letter, right after Remus and Tonks left the first time, and told him about the meeting. I was glad I did when Remus returned carrying you." Harry suddenly found his feet interesting.

Draco understood the look automatically. Potter was remembering the wounds. And what they meant about one of his closest friend.

Draco nodded in Ron's direction. "But you didn't have time to include a very important fact in that letter, did you, Potter?"

"What's he talking about, 'Arry?"

Harry released a shallow breath, shaking his head. "Ron," he sighed. He reached up, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder to comfort him. "Hermione. . .she's alright. But there's something you should know about her current state. . ."

Draco turned, closing his eyes and trying to block out what Potter was so painfully trying to explain to his friend. _Alright? That's not quite the right word for dead, Potter. _He winced, feeling nauseous at the thought. A strange sensation, tingling from tickling finger tips, moved across his skin, seeming to put his anxiety to rest. Draco felt his face flush hot with new, fresh blood as his heart leapt into his throat, beating furiously.

The conversation between the two boys seemed muffled, distance, behind the sound of that rushing blood.

". . . But you're going on his word? Are you insane?"

"I didn't believe it at first either. But the bite marks, Ron, and Lupin said. . ."

_They won't accept me._

Draco's eyes fluttered open, his pupils wide and engulfing. He reached up, clasping onto his neck with one hand, feeling that pulsating rhythm beneath his fingers. _Hurry, Hermione. I'm--we're--waiting for you._

_You shouldn't need me this much, Draco. _

_I don't. They do.  
_

"Malfoy, what's wrong with you?"

Draco realized that a cold bead of sweat was rolling down his temple. He registered the question but chose to ignore it. "Too late for explanations, Potter," he snapped, his eyes fixed on the fog. "She's here."

**

* * *

  
**

"I've been here for a while, actually," she said. She didn't simply walk out of the fog, but stood at the side of the building, still as a statue, as if she'd been there all along.

The boys seemed to stop breathing for a moment, their silence was so complete. They stared at her, as if processing her words. When they seemed at a loss for replies, she continued, her voice shaking slightly with a nervous tremor.

"I came here first," she explained. "Just wanted to keep an eye out for enemies entering the Alley. I caught your scent and . . ."

She winced, realizing what she'd just said, and stepped out of the hazy veil. "Let's talk inside."

The conversation had ended before it could begin. She walked past Draco as if he didn't exist, nearly at a human run as she passed the first two doors and gently stepped up the third flight, slipping a key into the door. Draco obediently followed, not waiting for the other two to collect themselves. He winced when he entered the room, finding that the lamps were far too bright and too many.

"Want everyone to get a good look at you, do we?" he said, frowning.

The footsteps of the others were trailing in through the open door.

Hermione gave him a pained look. "I want them to see what I am. I want this to be an honesty conversation," she said.

Draco looked away from her. "So long as I don't bring up anything you don't like?"

Harry walked through the door, and Hermione lowered her voice, her eyes on Draco, and crimson. "I won't lie about feeding from you."

"That's not what I'm talking about," Draco whispered. Nevertheless, he remained quiet, sitting in a sturdy chair in the room's corner and trying to avoid the light surrounding the rectangular quarters.

The door shut and locked itself as soon as Ron entered. Another of the inn's strange amenities, much like the two entry doors to every back-facing room.

Harry and Ron stood side by side, staring at their mutual friend with something akin to shock as they took in the red stain slowly leaving her eyes, the eternal paleness in her features, her strange stillness. They glanced at one another, no doubt wishing they were better schooled at the art of reading minds and turned back to Hermione, their guppy mouths opening and closing.

"We were afraid. . ."

"Are you alright?"

They both stumbled over their statements, smiling slightly, as if there was something amusing about their situation. Draco huffed, leaning back against the wall and wondering if he could get away with taking a nap through this little portion of the conversation.

Hermione tried to break a smile. "I'm. . .It could be worse," she finally said.

Harry released a breathy laugh, stepping forward, and hesitating only a moment before wrapping his arms around her in a deep hug. She returned it, a very human-sounding sigh of relief muffled against his collar. When he finally pulled away, her anxious eyes fell once more on the red-head at the door.

"'Mione," Ron said, his eyes wet. He squeezed the tears away with two fingers. "We were scared," he finally said, looking up at her. "You just disappeared. And no one was sure who took you. We thought. . ."

Hermione nodded. "I wish I could have gotten word to you earlier," she said. "But we were being kept away, without wands, by a vampire and. . ." She choked down her own words, swallowing them as if they were something foul tasting. "We barely escaped."

_But not with our lives,_ Draco mentally added, watching her lips twitch, knowing she'd caught the statement. He was surprised, if only somewhat, at how well these two were taking this news. Their friend, dead, returned as something that feeds on life, and they were already at the hugging stage. He'd known that the lot of them were friends, devoted to a weakness to one another. He'd never realized that it was also a strength. Jealousy crept through him at that thought. Abashed, blood filled his cheeks, leaving them uncomfortably warm as he tried to push the emotion back down. But he couldn't help it; it was unfair.

He was dead, as far as his world knew. And he had returned, still human, to no open arms.

_I forgot to ask her_, he thought, wishing he could stop himself, _I forgot to ask the others if they were going to tell Mother for me. _

"I'm sure they will," Hermione said. "But probably not tonight."

Draco's eyes shot up, catching hers. Ron and Harry looked on in confusion. Hermione shook her head at their expressions, and stepped forward, forcing Ron into an embrace that he returned whole-heartedly. "I missed you two," she said. "I was afraid, too, after this happened. I thought you'd never speak to me again."

Ron pushed her away, his face red with sudden anger. "What?" he asked, in disbelief. "It isn't your fault, 'Mione. We'll be here for you, through this. . ." His chin shook as he stared at her with dark, intense eyes. "Tell us who did this to you."

"What was the vampire's name?" Harry seconded. He grabbed hold of her arm, turning her to face him. "We need to know everything, Hermione, if there's any chance of us fixing this. We'll find a way, if it's out there."

Hermione cocked her head. "There's no fix, not yet, Harry, but even if we could, there are more important things we should be discussing. That's why I called you here in the first place."

"More important than your life?" Ron snapped.

"Yes!" Hermione answered. She looked back to Harry. "You have a mission, Harry. That's why I needed to see you. If you'll have me, I still want to be a part of it--you need help, even if I'm stuck like this, the two of you still need help in the coming battle."

"But, Hermione. . ."

"No buts," she interrupted. "We've got a job to do, Harry. You've got a Dark Lord to defeat. And I'm strong enough to help you." She threw a hand in Draco's direction. "And we've got someone who's been on the inside."

"Oh, bloody wonderful," Draco sneered.

Ron raised a brow. "Malfoy? We can't trust a word he says. How's he supposed to help us? Should we even be discussing this in front of him?"

"I think Hermione has that covered," Harry replied, giving Hermione a prodding glance.

Hermione bit her lip. "He can't do anything I don't want him to do. He's bound to me."

Draco stared down at his knees, his arms crossed over his chest, as if he was trying very hard to restrain himself.

Ron blinked in surprise. Harry met his look with a nod of confirmation. "You fed from him?" Ron breathed. He swallowed hard, releasing a coughed, humorless chuckle. "Better him than us, I suppose," he said. "Guess it's not like those vampire tell-alls say, then. Should have figured all of that lusty vampire 'passion' stuff was nonsense."

Hermione didn't reply at first, staring at her hands, the red lines of crusted blood beneath the stark white nails. "You don't have to be in a relationship with the person you're feeding from," she finally said.

"So you're not with him, then?" Ron persisted, shaking off Harry's restraining hand. He stepped closer to Hermione. "Just, tell us. Or. . ." He seemed to come to a realization. "Or with the vampire who did this to you? He didn't make you. . ."

"It's not like in the legends," Hermione said.

_I can't. . .I can't tell them yet._

Draco heard her distress and pulled for a distraction. He snorted, drawing their attention.

"It was me, King Weasel," he snapped. "I made her into what she is."

Ron's finger's rolled into fists. "What's he saying, Hermione?"

"I fed her the blood," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "That's what you wanted to know, right? Who to punish for tainting her? It was me."

Hermione reached out, grabbing hold of Ron with one arm before he could lunge forward. "He saved me," she explained, looking to Harry for assistance.

"Tell us," Harry said, not bothering to move.

"Fine," the vampire growled. "If you need to know what happened. We were trying to escape the vampire Draco was bound to, his name was Darien. We. . .poisoned him, but before he was incapacitated, he bit me. I was bleeding to death. Draco did the only thing he could do, he gave me the vampire's blood. He became bound to me, and, yes, he was my first meal. Is that quite enough now?" she snapped.

"For now," Harry replied, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Ron grew still. "I'm sorry," he said, staring at her hand across his chest. He put his over it, squeezing the cold flesh. "I . . . Malfoy's--Merlin strike me dead for ever saying this--but Malfoy's right. I'm looking for someone to punish. You said his name is Darien?"

_Dragon?_

Draco stood. "I'm going for a walk," he said, in a hushed voice.

"No, you're not," Hermione snapped.

Draco bit down his reply and sat back down.

"Did they give you more blood replenishing potion?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Hermione, I don't think you should," Harry said, sparing Draco a glance. "He's in a rough shape."

"Listen," Hermione began. She ushered Harry and Ron towards the interior door. "I want to talk, I really do, but I was injured earlier tonight. And I need. . .I need to _not_ be hungry when I wake up and see you tomorrow night." She shook her head. "I know you can't possibly understand this, but it's true: I could be very, very dangerous if I don't feed."

"Can't you feed on an animal or something?" Ron asked.

"It doesn't do the same thing, Ronald. It doesn't satisfy," she chided. "Don't you think that's exactly what I would be doing if a cow's blood would do the same as his?"

"Maybe. . ." Harry seemed reluctant to continue. "You must be able to control yourself somewhat, if he's still alive. Maybe you could drink from one of us, this once. He won't be much help to us. . .weak."

"That's not up for discussion, Harry!" Hermione said, her eyes almost glowing. "I could never feed from one of you. It's too dangerous."

Harry shook his head, a deep sadness in his emerald eyes. "We'll see you this evening, then," he said, walking out without another word.

"Harry," Hermione breathed, but he was already out the door. She looked to Ron, handing him a key. "Your room's across the hall. You might want to secure the locks better, once you're settled in."

Ron nodded. "Night, then," he muttered, leaving her.

She shut the door, resting her head against the cool paint and staring down at the floor.

"Guess the enemy's blood does taste better then?"

Hermione turned, staring at the blond as he unbuttoned his shirt for her, folding it over the back of the chair. She shut her eyes to stop them from roaming his lean muscles and finding the scars her kiss had left behind.

"Lost your appetite?" he asked, a bitter smirk on his face. "Shame does that to a person."

Hermione closed her eyes, her brow wrinkled in frustration. When they opened, her irises were saturated with red. "I'm sorry, Draco."

"No. You're not."

**End Notes: Sorry for all the dialogue in this chapter, but the filler was needed. Don't worry, though, the next chapter should be full of fist fights, romancing, and action. **

**If you're interested in seeing a few manipulations for this story, here's one of Draco and Hermione http: //falthee. deviantart. com /art/ Hermione-Draco-Bloody-Mess-146916599 (remove spaces) and here's one of a vampire Hermione http: //falthee. /art/ Hermione-Vampire-Red-Passion-146917062 (remove spaces). **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: Thanks for the feedback, everyone. This first scene has scenes of a graphic nature. Hard R. Just a warning. Feel free to skip down to the division line if you'd rather not read that. I apologize for the shortness of this chappie.  
**

**Chapter 26**

"I'm sorry, Draco."

"No. You're not," he said. And he meant it. "Not really. If you were, you'd find a way to stop."

Hermione sat down on the bed, her eyes still on him and still crimson, wanting. "And if you really wanted me to, you'd find a way to make me." She cocked a brow at his open, empty mouth. "You know it's true. But you don't know why."

His voice was too low to be heard by human ears. "Stop reading me like that."

"After I killed Sanguini," she said. She stop midway through the thought, as if in memory, and glared at him. "I could have killed you then, you know. If we hadn't been interrupted."

"I know. Tried to explain that to Potter. He still thinks you're a saint with fangs, so you've got nothing to worry about it."

"The point is, you would have let me. You would have let yourself die," she insisted, as if he'd already argued the point. "That's dangerous, Draco. Too dangerous. That isn't you. Not at all."

"What makes you so certain?" Draco crossed his arms over his bare chest, his face flushed. "You don't know what I'd really do, if I weren't bound to you. You don't honestly know me at all. Don't pretend that you do."

She leaned back, putting her weight on her arms. "So, the real Draco Malfoy is suicidal?"

Draco didn't answer, his gray glare as hard as her skin. He stepped forward, leaning down over her, pushing his knee between her legs so that he could pivot himself down onto the bed. His face hovered over hers a moment, an angry sneer on his lips.

"Suicidal?" he hissed. "I'm being hunted by all sides. Seems like this is the only way to keep alive, as unconventional as it is. I'm simply trying to stay alive."

He pressed his narrow lips against her throat, pushing a gust of hot breath onto her skin. Her hand shot up, grabbing him by the chin and pushing his face up to meet hers. Hermione grimaced, as if she were in pain, and bore her fangs in a quick, primitive show.

"Who am I?" she asked, her voice husky.

Draco couldn't help the smile straining against his cheeks. "My master," he breathed, "my mistress."

"Keep that in mind," she said, and reached down, pulling his zipper free.

A quick shake of her shoulders loosened the straps of her dress. He could feel the need, the call of her mind to his as she pushed images into his mind. Instructions. Draco's hands slid the sleeves down the rest of the way, freeing her porcelain skin from its cloth confounds. Her breasts pressed against his chest, making him tremble and she groaned, angry with his hesitation. She pressed her thoughts against him, forcing his obedience.

Draco let his pants fall before putting his weight onto the bed and lifting her legs around his hips. The heels of her shoes scraped against the sides of his legs, the last bit of urging he needed.

He closed his eyes, trying to block her. _Why are you making me do this?_

Razor nails strung red pearls across his ribs.

_Do you always want to be the one thrown against the floor? _

He swam in her, his breathing heavy, as if he were surfacing every time his head jerked skyward. His sweat was a cold one, mixing with her frigid temperature. But, somehow, her coldness seemed to make his heat that much more explosive, his body a torch that was slowly melting its way through a block of ice. He sighed, exhausted, but did not surrender to his body's wants, persistent in his sudden focus, to follow the map she'd planted in his mind.

When the end was near, he quickened and flattened his body against hers, arching his neck back. He was surprised when he felt her hands push him up, instead, to a standing position. She was sitting up, her lips pressed against his chest, her teeth finding the tender skin beneath his nipple and latching on. He cried out at the sudden shot of pain but relaxed as the motions of their love making came to an end. His fingers tangled in the curls of her hair, but did not pull her away.

"Mistress," he muttered, a drunkard.

Her hands slid down his lower back, pulling him closer to her life-stealing kiss. Her teeth released him. "This is why it can't be them. They're my friends, Draco."

He winced, the wound stinging in the open air.

The voice that met him was not hers: _I know, Dragon. _

* * *

The room was far too humid, and sweat beads collected like tiny pests against his skin. They felt alive when they rolled down and made the scrapes on his sides itch. He slipped his shirt on to stop the sensation, and buttoned it, before returning to the bed. Hermione lay with her back against the headrest, her eyes on the oil lamp still casting its yellow glow, her dress no longer in disarray.

"You should sleep," she said, unmoving, but her voice sounded choked.

"Planned on it," he replied, lying down beside her.

He turned to face the other wall, sliding an arm beneath the pillow under his ear.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and shifted her gaze to his still back. His breathing told her that he was no where near sleep.

"They know," she said.

Draco tensed, sucking in a shallow breath. _I know. . . _"You mean Potter and Weasley?"

"Who else would I mean?" He didn't answer. She played with the hem of her skirt. "You'd think there would be a ward on their wall but there's not. They were talking about me, earlier. They didn't say it exactly, but they both know why we're still in here together. Alone."

Hermione took his silence as a reply. She sighed, siding closer to him. A hesitating, cautious hand reached out to touch his shoulder. He rolled onto his back, staring at her face, upside down from his position.

"Draco," she began. Her frown was heartbreaking, a crease in the stone she seemed to be carved from. "Draco, you said you were doing this just to stay alive. But you were lying, weren't you?" She shook her head, clicking her tongue when she seemed at a loss for words. "You're letting me treat you this way," she finally said, "to keep me. . .to save me from having to kill another. To keep me sane."

Draco blinked tiredly. "Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"If not that, then why?"

He didn't want to answer.

She blinked, as if in surprise. "You mean, you actually can't admit to wanting to help me? No matter how many times you do so?" She huffed, a bitter smile on her face. "Draco, I saw into your mind. It might have only been a glimpse, but you've thought of it several times. . .Of seeing me in Darien's house."

Draco's hand caught hers cupping it an instant before he lifted hers away, depositing it on the mattress. "I'm tired," he said, as if in a plea. He swallowed, releasing an anxious breath. "Hermione, I'm tired. I can't think about this, any of this. Don't make me think of the why right now. I can't do it."

"You're different now."

"We've discussed this already, I believe."

"Physically. Your heartbeat, it's slower than it used to be." Hermione shook her head. "This shouldn't be the way it happens. I shouldn't have to hurt you to see you." Vermilion welled in her eyes. "Draco, I'm afraid. I'm afraid that you're going to. . ."

Her grief seemed to disappear in an instance, replaced with wide eyes and a shocked, open mouth. "No," she hissed, suddenly angry. She rolled off the bed, standing, alert, and staring at the door leading to the hall. "Get up, Draco! Hurry!"

Draco scrambled to his feet. "What's going on?"

"We're out of time."

"Darien. . .?"

Hermione shook her head and lazily pushed him towards the back exit, cocking her head to listen through the floor. "Someone--no, vampires. More than one. They just broke through the downstairs entrance. They've killed a man." She ran for the hall door, stopping to stare back at the room. "Wait here. I'll get Harry and Ron--we'll go back the way we came."

She disappeared. One second passed before the door behind Draco flew off its hinges, knocking him to the floor. He sucked in a breath, refilling his lungs, and dug his fingers into the rug beneath him, clawing for a hold. But a hand was wrapped around his leg, pulling him through the exit and out from under the shattered door.

He was released and took the moment of freedom to roll onto his back. An arm shot out, fingers catching him by the throat before his eyes could adjust to the night. It lifted him, holding him high. He sputtered, trying to form the name as he came to recognize the woman choking the life from him.

Annalisa's expression was not one of a victor's, but it should have been. Draco knew there was no way he would escape her, not unless she wanted him to.

He closed his eyes. _Hermione, run! _

_Draco. . ._

The fingers gripping his throat loosened but drew him closer.

"I," Annalisa said, her voice clipped, "have someone who wants dearly to see you again."

**End Notes: So, yes, I did just draw everyone together and pull them back apart again. I'm mean like that. Hee. **

**I don't know if any of you checked out my manips, but if you did, here's another Red Passion manip called "Draco: I'm Your Slave" (teehee). http:// . com/art/Draco-I-m-Your-Slave-148150607 (remove spaces)**


	27. Chapter 27

**Chapter 27**

Holly was dead. She had been for some time now, decades in fact. However, that did not mean that she was a friend to physical pain. She was no fan of torture, not even in a sexual sense. In fact, despite the going-ons of her circle of vampire peers, she did not enjoy causing pain, either. In her rowdiest days, during her gluttonous youth, she had always been, at worse, a merciful murderess, delivering ecstasy as she sapped away life with only a pinch to the neck as evidence of her intent.

In death, as in life, she was a creature of pleasure. And she was in no way pleased with her current situation, for the woman, the witch, standing before her was most definitely a child of pain, of giving and receiving. Unfortunately for the vampire, Bellatrix Lestrange was in a particularly charitable mood.

"Do you know," the witch began in her light, child-like voice, "that I practically had to fight the wolves for the chance to do this?" She released a choked chuckled, running the tip of her wand down Holly's bare arm, beginning at the thick shackles around her wrists that held her against the stone wall of the cellar.

A wad of mucus and blood slithered its way up Holly's throat and spilled past her lips, splattering on the rotted wood-over-dirt flooring before her feet. Her eyes, dark as night, starved, glanced up at the woman.

"You don't say?" she bit.

Bella nodded, a pout at her lips. "They wanted to peel the skin from your flesh," she continued, running the fingers of her free hand across her own square jaw in a gentle caress. "Consume your skin while you screamed for mercy." A crooked smile spit her haggard face in two. "They may still get the chance. After I'm done."

"You haven't even asked me a question yet," Holly said, glaring at the wand against her hard skin. "It seems as if your interrogation skills are somewhat rusty, child."

Her blond curls bounced against her shoulders as she quickly cocked her head, looking past, to the chamber's center. She watched, unabashed, knowing that her brassy stare might mean her end. She watched _him. _The wizard who was attempting to use her kind for his own purposes. A creature who called himself her master.

Lord Voldemort sat back, relaxed against the spoonback armchair as if he had melted into the Victorian pattern of the green velvet fabric. The chair seemed somewhat strangely placed, it being the only piece of furniture in an otherwise unadorned space. No doubt, it had simply been magicked there for the Dark Lord's comfort. His long, weaponless fingers loosely clutched the redwood detail of the arm rails as if they were two crystal balls that might show him the truth, and the wizard mirrored the vampire's movement, the tiniest hint of a cruel smile on his face.

Bellatrix seemed to feel her master's movement, and she pulled away with a sweeping move of her skirt, stepping out of his view, her head bowed in reverence.

"Holly," he said, rolling her name against his sunken cheeks. He seemed to have no taste for it. "Did you think that I would not know? That I would not find out?" He pushed a loud, hissing breath through is absent nose and smoothed the new robes over his narrow shoulders. "But, of course, it is not your fault, is it, Holly? That our Sanguini has decided to disobey me."

"Sanguini?" Holly chuckled, her grin tight. A stream of cold blood dripped down her stomach, tickling her sensitive flesh. "I screw him, yes. Is that your question, my lord?"

"His activities do not concern me. I wish to speak only of his nature: he is not a loyal subject." Voldemort lowered his gaze, all humor lost. "I have it on good account that you aided him in his efforts to defy me. I asked him to bring a girl to me. He has not done so. I believe you are, in part, responsible for his absence."

"Just going with a hunch, then?"

His lip twitched. "He left feeling frustrated, intent on finding a way to not follow my orders. He met with you. And then he disappeared. So, I asked myself. How would a foolish coward like Sanguini work up the gumption to challenge me? Why, he must have found inspiration, of course. You told him something, turned him away from me. What was it? What do you know?"

"Ahh. I see your reasoning, my lord. Sanguini does think with his prick, so as I was closest to it, I must have spoken to him about the girl. Young Hermione Granger, friend of Harry Potter. A pretty little morsel, if I remember her correctly," Holly said, eyes glittering like obsidian spheres. "After the embarrassment with Darien, Sanguini wanted her dead. I told him it was a bad idea, pissing you off."

"Yet, you did not tell me of his plans. A mistake. One that even a merciful master might not be willing to forgive."

Holly licked the blood off her bottom lip. Her wrists shook, testing the strength of the shackles holding her in place. There was no give in their links. "That's not the real reason I'm here, is it?"

Voldemort leaned forward. "You're very perceptive."

"Happens with age."

"I am growing tired of your kind's arrogance. Darien with his demands, then his prideful disobedience. And now Sanguini's incompetence has once again astounded me." He stood slowly and approached.

"Ready to sever your ties with us yet?" Holly asked. "I don't know how you ever thought to control us in the first place."

Bellatrix's face contorted in anger. "Bite your tongue, leech! The Dark Lord has plenty of your kind standing behind him," she snapped but didn't move forward.

The Dark Lord blinked lazily, as if bored with the display. "She is correct, you know. There are other blood drinkers who want the muggles on their knees." He paused, letting the thought simmer. "So, as you can reason, there is no point in resisting me. Tell me what I wish to know, and you will be allowed to join the winning side."

Holly rolled her eyes. "Well, then. What do you want to know?"

"I wish to know where your home is located." Voldemort stopped at Bellatrix's side, putting a possessive hand around the base of her neck. The witch straightened, wand at the ready. "I wish you to betray your kind so that I may make an example of your small family and take the remaining undead in this country as my loyal, however unwilling, followers. And I wish to start my show of power by punishing Sanguini," Voldemort said, as if he were repeating a list of groceries. He came to an expectant pause, awaiting a response from the young vampire.

"You 'wish'?" Holly raised a brow. "Do I look like a fucking genie to you?"

"I was hoping you would resist," he sneered. "It should make this all the more entertaining."

The vampire giggled, a mock frown on her face at Bella's manic scowl.

"Something you should really know before you cast your petty spells, Riddle." Holly smirked. "The girl you're looking for. . .she's dead already. And she killed Sanguini. Guess your evening isn't going to go quite as you planned."

Voldemort tensed but his anger did not reach his face. "Bella," he said, glancing down at the Death Eater. "Fetch the werewolves; have them bring their. . .tools with them."

Holly's jaw tightened from the strain of her grin. "At least I died pretty. Can't say the same for you."

He cocked his head, false remorse lining his eyes. "I assure you, you won't the second time."

_

* * *

  
_

The coolness of the damp soil beneath his body seemed to seep through his skin and clench his body, pulling him closer. Making a statue of his still form. How long he laid there with the back of his shirt in the dirt, he wasn't sure. He was awake, he thought, for most of it, but he could not be sure.

The darkness in the pit was disorienting, but he was almost certain that he'd lost only the early morning and a day's length. He was positive it was night again, if only from the slight sense of stirring from the two creatures who he was bound to.

He could hear the sound of the grate above him moving, but he didn't bother to sit up, prepare for the visitor. Thinking of the movement seemed to weaken him. Instead, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the pleasant pain in his chest, a pressure, as if a body were laying atop his.

When his eye lids flickered open, the pit was lit, a blazing torch standing from a tiny hole in the dirt floor. Darien was sitting with his back against the wall, his eyes lowered to the ground, his arms balanced on bent knees. The position was so childish, so against the graceful nature of the vampire, that Draco sat up in alarm, believing that he could stir himself from whatever dream he was having.

"You are awake," Darien said, more in reassurance than declaration.

Draco opened him mouth but lost his words. His eyes studied the form of the creature, thin, worn. Darien's flesh looked more like some fragile cloth stretched too tightly over a human form than skin. When his eyes raised, Draco could see the anger there, bright as the fire reflected in them, but he could sense something more as well, a deep seeded sadness.

"You're too arrogant to apologize," Darien said. "I would expect nothing less from you, Dragon."

Draco released a rushed breath. "What the hell should I apologize for?"

But even as he asked, he could feel that awkward guilt inside him. It was the same feeling that filled him every time he looked into Hermione Granger's dead eyes.

"Was it really so bad, what I offered?" Darien paused, but refused to break eye contact with the young man. "Was it so horrible, the prospect of becoming what I am?"

Of being what Hermione was. Tasting her and enjoying it. Truly smelling her hair.

"No," Draco answered, swallowing hard. He could feel the blood filling his cheeks with hot rage. "You don't get it, do you?" he asked. Draco didn't wait for an answer. "You took my choice away. That's what was so horrible. You took me out of a life where I'd lost my will and you made me a slave again."

Darien was still, watching with something akin to curiosity. "She'll kill you, too. My kind are never gentle, no matter how soft and pretty the face."

Draco's fingers gripped at his chest, scratching at the skin beneath the chest. "It's different."

"How so? I would have cared for you like a son, Draco. I. . ." the vampire stopped, staring at his cupped hands. "Can she do better?"

"No. It's different because I'd let her do it."

Darien stood, his movement so quick that seemed as if only his shadow had shifted. "Wrong," he hissed. His soft, careful tone had disappeared. "_ 'I'd let her'_, you say--no, Dragon. Wrong tense. You've already let her."

The torch extinguished in a cool hiss, leaving Draco in darkness once more.


	28. Chapter 28

**Chapter 28**

"He's gone."

Her voice seemed to break the room in half with one fatal slice. Darien winced at the words but did not pull his eyes from the window. The yellow moon was heavy and round, a perfect distraction for a creature with the superior vision required to study its subtle craters and shadows.

"You don't know that," Darien said, unsure of why he and his maker had chosen to have such a conversation with words. It was unnecessary. But they often did such things, or were forced to do such things as speak and sigh and shutter by that flickering light of humanity within them.

Annalisa approached him slowly and reached out, sliding her arms around him and pulling his back tight against her full chest. She was a tall, slender form, and her chin rested easily on his wide shoulder, her body folding so intimately into him that they appeared, from the shadow off of the room's lone candle, to be one figure. Her narrow nostrils fluttered open, taking in his scent.

"You enjoy deceit too much, my little fiend," she said, the hint of a smile on her lips not quite reaching her cold eyes. Her voice was clipped with such a variety of accents that even Darien had never been able to place them all, but, in her cooing tone, she sounded ever so slightly like a Russian princess. "You have fooled even yourself."

"You told me once that love is no more a truth than a lie," he said. His hand crept up his chest, finally stopping when his fingertips caught her cheek. "So does it really matter then, that I have deceived myself?"

Annalisa planted a gentle kiss on his ear. Her eyes were also distracted by the light of the moon past the open sliver of a window. This tower room was the highest that still existed in the skeletal remains of her castle refuge, and the furthest from the pit where they kept their prisoner.

"I have not given you a proper gift in many years, my child. Let me go out, find you a new son. Another wizard, perhaps. Arrogant and pureblood, like you prefer. Or would a daughter be less painful?"

"Apparently, I already have a daughter," Darien snapped, but he did not pull away. After a pause, he shook his head. "No, one doesn't simply abandon their son. . . simply because he is tainted. My dragon remains."

Annalisa closed her eyes, tilting her head against his. _He is gone from us. He is soon to be gone from this world entirely. Give up, Darien._

His voice was soft. "He is not gone."

"Do you really need me to say it, Darien? Are you so childish still that you need the truth shoved into your face?"

Annalisa released him only to grab hold of his shoulders and turn him to face her. "We've killed him," she said. "His death will be slow, and he'll want only for her, even as he fades. Not you, Darien--he will care nothing for you. There is no time for you to strengthen the bond between you. Even if you were to take him again now, he would not be reborn. Not unless the girl turned him. His body would resist anyone but her. Surely, you know this."

"The girl hated me but _came over_ easily enough."

Annalisa frowned. "The girl was bound to no one. If she had been another's child, her body would have resisted the change. She would have remained a corpse. You know this, child. I taught you as much. Now, quit this game of yours. Either kill the boy or take him back to your daughter."

Darien looked as if he had swallowed hot coal. His face was drawn, ashen. "What would be the point? She wouldn't turn him. She's too young."

Annalisa's grin returned, her pointed teeth as bright a white as her skin. She laughed, mirthlessly. "So no more talk of killing her then? Nevertheless, we're back to where we began, child. He's gone. Forget him. There are more urgent matters to attend to."

"Bartholomew's message." Darien lowered his head in a sign of sympathy. "Holly is gone."

"Yes," Annalisa said, her voice hard. "Holly is no more. With or without her help, there is no doubt in my mind that this pitiful little Dark Lord knows our location already."

"Is he a threat to our family?"

"Our family's number has dwindled over the past century," Annalisa began. "The wizard has some uncanny ability to side-step death. But he is only human now. I would not think he alone would be a threat. But he has followers, amongst them a family of vampires from the south. They are morons, all of them, to kneel to that pest. But I have seen madder men take stronger allies in the past, so it is no true surprise."

"We've stayed out of these battles in the past, perhaps we should do the same now," Darien suggested.

"Do you think this Voldemort will forget you so easily? You should have thought about neutrality before you made deals with him and figuratively spit in his face," Annalisa chided. "Foolish moves, all of them. But I did not turn you for your strategic abilities, I suppose."

"No," he said, his eyes glimmering in memory, "you did not."

"We're going to fight this one. I'll need everyone ready. Strong and armed." Annalisa turned towards the door, as if to leave. She paused, her fingers tight on the wooden frame. "Darien, you're weak. You need to feed."

"No."

"Yes," she insisted. "I'm afraid you cannot finish what you began this time. Face your truth, Darien. Kill the boy and prepare yourself for battle."

A sound caught Darien's ear and he all but felt the moon's subtle glow leave the room. When he looked over his shoulder, he saw what was blocking the night's light. The obstruction was a hideous mark hanging like a cloud in the otherwise clear sky. Its form was familiar; it was a fleshless skull with a long tongued serpent pushing out of its open gape.

"Our guests have arrived."

* * *

The noise was alarming.

Draco wasn't sure what it was; raised voices, laughter, screams. Only noise, muffled through stone walls and bouncing down the pit's open top. It had surprised him out of his half-sleep, if only because noise seemed so scarce in this place. He'd been here for but a day and already he'd gotten used to the loudness of silence, the sound of his breathing, the whisper of movements when visitors would pass above without word or gesture.

For a split second, he thought about addressing the sound with a sarcastic call, ask if they'd finally decided to bring him something to eat and drink (vampires, he'd noticed, were inconsiderate like that). But something held him back.

Perhaps it was simply that part of him that thought the sound a bit too strange. A bit too much like the sound of fighting.

Draco pushed himself up off of the dirt bed and reached out blindly until his fingers found the circular wall. He leaned onto it, as if to stop himself from being disoriented when he raised his head and stared up to the opening above. Though there was some form of light up there that allowed him to see the distinguishing circle that lead into the open passage, it must have come from some far away candle or open window because it was not even bright enough for him to see if the ceiling far above was made of stone or wood.

Nevertheless, his eyes stayed trained on that circle. The shadows above seemed to shift, playing tricks on his eyes. Then they stilled once more. Black on black on black.

He released a shaky breath, listening to his own mind. Hoping that he'd hear his name being called out. When he didn't, he assumed that there was nothing above him. Then the shadows moved, ever so slightly. A head cocking to one side.

"Someone up there?" Draco asked. He didn't bother to shout, knowing it could heard him. "Annalisa?" he added, almost hopefully.

A blinding ball of fire shot past the opening, landing somewhere further down the hall and illuminating his visitors: two faces he didn't recognize stared down at him. Even in the fleeting glance, he knew that both of them were dead, the dark skinned one an ashen color, the other one almost blue from the raised veins beneath his fleshy shell. Vampires.

"Shit," Draco hissed.

The fire ball that landed close to the pair seemed to be fading quickly, but its light was enough to show one of the vampires motioning for someone else. A tall hood cast a shadow over the opening and Draco felt his knees buckle ever so slightly. A Death Eater. Here, of all places.

The wizard held out his wand and shot a bolt of fire down the pit, but he wasn't aiming at the Draco. The fire was small but still lively when it landed at the floor's center, brightening the surroundings. Draco winced away from the light, pushing himself closer to the wall and forcing himself to open his eyes again to look up. The Death Eater had disappeared, but the other two. . .

They landed in almost silent thuds on the floor, one on either side of the fire, boxing Draco in.

"They left you for us, little traitor," the darker one stated, lowering his gaze. His tongue made a quick swipe over swollen white lips.

"I'm not a traitor," Draco breathed, as if on instinct.

The blue one ran a hand through his hay yellow mane and shrugged. "Don't really care, lad. We won't hold it against ye while we're chewing ye bones."

He chuckled, as if the line had been rehearsed, and a flat hand slid out of the front of his throat, sending a spray of blood across Draco's face. The wizard winced, spitting out the coppery taste on his lips. He wiped the splatter off his eye lids and looked back up in time to see the dark skinned vampire having his hear ripped from his body.

The bones of the spine crackled and gave, the tearing skin and popping sinews following suit. His face was still in an angry scowl when his skull rolled to a scalp-up stop at Draco's feet.

Draco blinked, staring at his savior, Darien.

"You look a bloody mess in every meaning of the phrase," Draco said, taking several deep breaths. Without meaning to, he kicked the head to his side.

"As do you." The vampire's eyes darkened, and he reached a hand out, waiting. "Come," he commanded.

Draco hesitated only a moment, staring at the black blood caked in his pointed nails before taking hold of the icy wrist. The wizard's arm felt as if was being ripped from his shoulder as the vampire all but flew up the pit wall and to the surface passage. Darien stopped above, but did not release him.

The vampire's probing eyes covered the length of the passage, and, spotting no danger, he turned back to Draco. "I'm sorry, Dragon," he said, his voice almost at a whisper.

He elbow twitched, slinging the young man into his embrace.

"Don't," Draco pleaded. "I don't want to die, Darien."

The vampire did not relinquish his hold, his brow wrinkling and forcing his eternally young face to look old for a moment.

"This will be the last time," Darien promised. He buried his face into Draco's neck, his lips finding the quickened pulse, and sunk his fangs into the flushed flesh.


	29. Chapter 29

**Chapter 29**

The vampire's teeth sunk in and took one deep draw of Draco's blood before pulling out again. Draco shuttered in the humid air of the passage, feeling both chilled and flushed by the feverish rush of blood through his body. He looked up in shock, unable to contemplate anything but the sound of his own pulse against his ear drums.

Behind that rhythmic noise, however, was another sound, a voice. Words spoken in a memory of a memory: "_Blood is life. Blood has bonded me to you. I claim you, Draco Malfoy. You are mine. Do you understand?"_

Darien put his wrist to his own mouth, biting down in one quick motion. He held his bleeding hand out to the wizard.

"_Blood is life." _

It seemed like so long ago. Those words had been spoken to Draco the night he was supposed to die, and did die, according to the newspapers. He'd woken to the dark wisdom in the home of a vampire, and his life had, forever, changed. And, though Darien had not spoken them again, in this moment of confusion, the memory of the explanation surfaced in Draco's mind.

"Drink," Darien commanded.

"I thought you were going to kill me," Draco said, blinking.

"I still might if you do not do as I say," the vampire snapped.

He didn't wait for Draco to make a move, instead pressing his wrist against the young man's mouth. Choking on the sudden flood of blood on his tongue, Draco swallowed once before pulling away. He fell easily from Darien's grasp and stumbled back against the darkened passage's wall.

"Why?" he said, swiping at the wetness dribbling down his chin.

Darien did not at first answer, but the memory of his voice was loud in Draco's mind, and the wizard felt the need to speak:

"I hoped you were dead. For good," he said. His eyes were dry, strained, as he forced himself not to blink. A blink was all the time it would take for Darien to rip out Draco's throat, if the vampire so wished it. "When your manor was burnt to the ground. I wanted you to be in it. But you already know that, don't you?"

"Yes, it occurred to me. Since you _did_ poison me."

"Why am I alive then?" Draco asked. He swallowed, wincing from the metal taste still slithering between his teeth.

Darien licked his own wrist, cleaning it. The wound had already closed when he dropped his arm to his side. He stared at the end of the passageway with an almost predatory fervor in his eyes.

"Because," Darien said. His answer seemed to fade in the stale air surrounding him. He began again. "Perhaps you shouldn't question my mercy, boy."

"It is my mercy, and not yours, that matters," Draco muttered. The words didn't form a statement, but, instead, a question. He had no need to search his memory for the line. He remembered the speaker, the man who'd stood before him, twinkling eyes seeming to read his heart like an open book. No, Draco would never forget those words. But he wasn't sure why he spoke them now, to Darien, and if the quote still held its weight.

Darien shook his head, the hint of smile on his face. "Then you know?" he said. He stilled, staring into Draco's gray gaze. "You do. You have pieces to the answer inside you, no doubt plucked from my mind. Perhaps the girl's--if she learned anything from the books within my library. But you don't have the question, my dragon."

Draco's patience was wearing thin. "Then what is the question?"

"Later," Darien replied. "Now isn't the time."

"But it was a decent time for us to play the blood exchange game?" Draco snapped.

"You were weak," Darien said. When the silence between them continued, he shook his head. "When she, Hermione, lay dying, you forced her to take my blood. When she drunk from me, she took with my blood the connection between us, Draco. And it was intensified by the. . . interaction between the two of you. If I am to release you back to her, I do not want that bond clouding your. . ."

A scream sounded through the stone walls surrounding them. The ceiling above shook, loose dirt and dust falling down onto their heads.

Darien grabbed hold of Draco's collar, pushing him towards the torch-lit exit of the passage. "There is a staircase there, follow it up," Darien said. "Find a place to hide in the bedrooms. I'll come for you."

Draco's eyes were on the shaking stones above him. "But what's going on up there?"

"A battle--it does not concern you," Darien snapped. "Now go! I will draw the other vampires away from you."

The vampire's eyes stayed on the young man as he ran towards the dim light, turning away, his footsteps sounding as he ascended.

"You are so foolish, love."

Darien turned to greet the speaker with a grimace. Annalisa's animal-like eyes moved slightly in the shadowed exit of the passage as she shook her head.

"This is for the best," Darien replied. "And, yes, I know that I am a great fool."

"You should have told him," Annalisa chided. "Or killed him. Either would have been fine with me. Either would have left me with a stronger soldier."

"The bond will help with that."

"Will it help enough, though?" she asked.

Darien closed his eyes, listening to the movements above with such intensity that an onlooker might have mistaken him for a standing corpse.

"Aid has arrived," he said, as if in answer.

"Lucky you." Annalisa released an open smile. Her white teeth almost glowing in the shadows. "Let us get a bite, then, shall we? Before the good bodies are picked over."

* * *

The staircase wound up the side of the castle, but Draco had not yet made it out of the underground, to the surface. Where he was supposed to find a corridor. He could almost see it in his mind, a room with a charmed closet, awaiting his arrival. He knew the visual must have been from Darien, though he chose not to think on that factor too much. If he did, he might reveal his true intent, which would not involve crouching in a small wardrobe and hoping to avoid spying eyes.

The thought of the outside surfaced, and he pushed it down, nearly closing his eyes to block out the vision of the room.

_Draco. . . Where are you?_

He stumbled over one of the stone stairs, falling to his knees. The rock below was hard and cold, but not half so cold as the chilling gust that passed above him in the form of a green streak. Draco forgot how to breath when he registered that there was a wizard behind him, close enough to aim a spell around the spiraling staircase. He stayed low and shoved himself against the innermost wall, all but flying up the stairs. Footsteps, his pursuer's presence now revealed, were loud and clapping behind him.

_You're here!_

Draco had to force himself not to come to a slamming stop when he recognized the voice. Hermione's. It seemed distant in his mind, as if it lay behind a cloud of white noise. But he knew she must be close. Darien had reformed his bond only minutes earlier. For her words to come through, she must be. . .

He almost didn't see opening to the outside walkway leading to the center courtyard of the skeletal castle. He slid back to it, pushing himself through the archway just as the stones above his head exploded. The blast forced him to his knees and he fell into a crouch, his elbows bouncing off of the walkway. The corner of eye was alight with the colors splashing the square lot of land at the building's center. Logic caught up with him before he had fully turned to face the duels taking place over the courtyard.

Duels was, perhaps, not the right word, as a good portion of the fighters were not using wand magic, but the weapons of their species instead. A wad of wizards were standing in sloppy circle, shooting spells in every direction. A shaking fear had almost swept through Draco completely before he recognized their forms. They weren't Death Eaters. In fact, quite a few of them were aurors.

"The Order?" Draco breathed, surprise leaving him wide eyed. "What are they doing here?"

He felt the motion in front of him and ducked his head on instinct.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The red slam of the spell missed him, throwing back the Death Eater approaching from behind. Draco had almost forgotten about him.

"Get the wand, you wanker!" a man's voice snapped.

Draco scrambled towards the Death Eater's wand, glancing up to see Ron Weasley covering his back. The red-head didn't spare him a glance, his vision trained on the battle ahead. Draco snatched up the wand and took quick aim at the empty air before him, preparing for an attack.

"Hermione?" Draco asked.

Ron nodded. "How do you think we found you?"

"But, the. . ."

"Yeah," Ron interrupted, "suppose she decided that asking her friends for help wasn't such a bad thing after all. We backtracked after the attack at the inn, found Lupin. He brought the rest."

Draco felt his face flush. "You have got to be kidding me. All of that running about and she goes back to get the werewolf?"

"Apparently, she thought you going to die." Ron's brow wrinkled in annoyance, and he released the stunning spell at a wizard who looked as if he were trying to retreat. "And does it bloody well look like I have time to take questions?"

Draco rolled his eyes and turned his attention back on the scene in front of him. Vampires streaked in and out of his vision so quickly that he could barely glimpse their faces, much less know what side they were on. If he were honest with himself, he wasn't particularly sure he could trust either group, but he was certain that any vampire fighting with the Death Eaters would be of a mind to kill first, ask their master about it later.

A streak of flames crossed the courtyard, slamming into one of the undead. A high scream burst out as the vampire collapsed, twitching as the fire crawled over the surface of their body, rendering them incapable. That sound, that was the one Draco had heard earlier.

"Fire," he told himself, with a quick nod. Burn the dead.

"Harry," Ron said, as if in answer.

He took off in a run towards the far side of the courtyard. Harry was standing with his back to a wall, two vampires closing in and dodging the flames spilling out of his wand. The red-head joined his friend moments later, taking aim. As Draco watched, he could see another figure sprout from the shadows, grabbing one of the vampires from behind. The two figures slowed as they struggled against each other, and Draco could see that Hermione held the offending creature against her body, her arm wrapped under his chin.

"Hermione!" Draco said, suddenly exhilarated.

His heart beat pounded within his ears, seeming louder that the battle surrounding him. He dodged a red streak and hugged the wall under one walkway, hiding himself behind the columns as he slowly proceeded towards the trio.

_Draco, watch out!_

The warning came too late, the disarming spell hitting his wand arm. Draco stumbled back, searching for his attacker. The Death Eater stepped past the remaining embers of a vampire, walking with a sort of graceful swagger that Draco recognized more that the voice spilling out from behind the mask.

"What a pity, nephew," Bellatrix said, shaking her head ever so slightly. Her wand was trained, her glove groaning as her grip tightened. She clicked her tongue. "Quite frankly, it would have been easier on you if you'd simply died. But too late for that, I suppose."

"Aunt. . ."

She giggled softly, raising the wand. "You seem to like vampire company so much--perhaps you'd also enjoy taking their punishment as well?"

Her head tilted forward, a grin showing beneath the mask. "_Incendio_!"

Draco felt the stir of movement beside him as a vampire came to a sudden stop, cold fingers wrapping around his arm just in time to throw him out of harm's way. The fire burst out with such accuracy and intent that it looked like flaming canon fodder as it slammed past the wizard and into the person beside him, throwing the vampire through the thick stone wall.

Draco felt the sweat on his brow turn to icy droplets. Fear gripped him when his eyes automatically found the spot where Ron and Harry were pushing back a vampire. Hermione was no longer fighting with her friends.

Hermione. The vampire beside him.

Draco took no time to call out to her, thinking the pain welling up within him was enough of a confirmation. He dodged the spell Bellatrix sent his way, jumping through the hole in the wall, digging through the rubble for the body. The furniture in the room seemed almost untouched, but for a heavy table slanting downward, two of its legs snapped from the impact of stone blocks. Draco stepped past it, anxious eyes probing the shadows behind the table. He didn't have to look far for the body. Smoke filtered up, the fire on the flesh extinguished by the brutal slam of stones.

"Hermione!" Draco called, reaching out.

"_Expulso_!" Bellatrix hissed.

The table exploded, pushing Draco back. A sharp pain shot through his chest, and he collapsed onto the littered floor, grasping at his breast and painfully sucking in the thick air surrounding him. But he found no shard there, at his heart. Splinters stuck through is shirt along one arm, leaving a stinging pattern of crimson dots on the dark shirt. But nothing had touched his chest, though the throbbing ache remained.

He blinked in confusion, shielding his eyes from the ash and woodchips drifting back to the floor. Before he moved for the body, he froze, reminded that there was a witch with a ready wand at the exit. A scowl on his face, he turned to face his aunt, but found her detained. . . Annalisa's strong arms were around her, delicate fingers twisting ever so slightly and snapping the bones along the witch's forearm. The high pitch of her cry was almost as alarming as the biting, bitter chuckle laced within the scream. Annalisa moved her other arm over the woman's torso, a crunching sound bringing silence from Bellatrix's lips.

Draco looked away, a welling of confusing emotions building in him, and focused, instead, on the body laying a few feet from him. Still on his knees, he scrambled to the spot, pushing a stone out of the way. He hesitated when his eyes looked past the debris, to the charcoaled torso covered in dust and gravel and table remains. Splinters of wood stuck out from the side of the vampire's chest, their diagonal landings seeming to fool the eye. But Draco wasn't fooled. He knew why he felt the burning in his breast now--one of those splinters had torn through the heart.

He knew already, from the burned torso before him, that he had been wrong. This wasn't Hermione. He pushed the plank of wood off of the body's face, staring down in surprise. The skin of the face was almost untouched by the flames, their licking black streaks ending at the vampire's jaw.

"Darien?" Draco asked. But he knew the vampire could see him. Darien's eyes were open, bloodshot and staring directly at the young man. "What can I do?"

Darien released a sigh of breath from between his bloodless lips that sounded more like a breeze pushing through a cave's corridor than a human inclination. With effort, the vampire shifted his head slightly, as if to better see the young man beside him.

_Nothing, Dragon. _

Draco closed his eyes, his brow wrinkled in frustration. "I hate you," he bit, unable to look at the vampire. Every word was heavy and wished to remain within his throat, but he forced out the question. "Why did you do that? Why did you save me?"

_I had to, my son._

"But I hate you," Draco insisted. He opened his eyes, wiping away the wetness there. "You're a manipulator, a murderer. And you wanted to make me into one."

_Murderer? Yes. I am to be hated. But I would have given so much, boy. The girl. . ._

"You wanted her dead!"

_Would you ever have loved her without my aid? Do you not remember? Your hate means so little. You gave her your rage long before I met you. . ._

"Draco," the vampire said aloud, his voice caught in his throat. Even as he spoke, the stolen blood within his flesh seemed to pull further away from the skin, leaving it paper thin.

Draco held his breath. One good blow, he believed, and the creature would crumble to pieces.

"Just be quiet," Draco whispered.

"Draco," Darien began, "you found the question. But you didn't ask it right." He paused, his fingers sliding across the floor to meet Draco's hand. His grip was too weak and Draco was afraid to return it.

"Why did you save me?" Draco repeated. He chewed his lip, uncomfortable with the image crawling across his mind. It was of the room Voldemort had put him in, to await his punishment. "Why me?" he asked, with sudden realization. "You're not merciful. You don't care if someone dies. So why did you choose me that night?"

Darien smiled sadly. "That is the question," he said. "You will not like. . . the answer."

"Tell me," Draco insisted, his hand tightening around the fingers in his palm. The charcoal skin flaked away against the grip of his sweaty skin, and he pulled away in disgust.

_Ask Annalisa. She will tell you. Both of you. . ._

"Both?" Draco asked.

Darien's eyes closed. Draco felt a sudden emptiness in his mind and knew that the vampire was no more. He stood up, slowly stepping back from the corpse, and turned away, not wanting to see what happened to that papery flesh when there was no more blood to sustain it.


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: This is the last main chapter of the story. My next update will be the epilogue, so keep an eye out for it. Thank you all for reading and reviewing. Your support has been wonderful.**

_If morning echo says we've sinned  
Well, it was what I wanted now.  
And if we're the victims of the night  
I promise you I won't be blinded by the light._

--"Angel of the Morning" written by Chip Taylor

**Chapter 30**

It was clean. Death wasn't supposed to be so easy to clean up. It should have been a mess. An awaiting pile of decay left for the living to see and handle and cry about, but it wasn't. Even the smell was wrong. The smoke didn't quite cling to the nose like that of charring flesh. It was familiar, more like wood and paper than a once living being.

Draco stared out at the sun, a creeping sliver of gold. Dawn was a strange time; the sky cut in half, as though down the middle by light and darkness. When the sun climbed higher and took the night, its rays would land directly over the courtyard. And what little mess remained would be completely cleaned from the face of the earth. Not even lengthy, body-shaped soot marks would remain.

The humans had faired more fortunate than these poor scorches on the ground. Or, that appeared to be the case. Though at least a few Death Eaters had been seen to fall, none of their bodies had been recovered. Draco had a feeling that Annalisa had something to do with that. The Order had suffered two serious injuries but no fatalities. This was no grand miracle. By the time they'd found the location, Annalisa's vampires had already started to push the intruders out. Soon after the wizards arrived, a full retreat had taken place. Mere minutes after Darien had crumbled away.

"It's going to be a warm day," Lupin said, as if to himself. The man was crouched down onto the ground, staring at pile of ashes there. He reached in and pulled free a thin gold chain with a little ceramic rose attached to one end. All that remained.

"Who was she?" Draco asked.

Lupin stood straight, dusting off the worn knees of his pants and holding the little necklace out as if he didn't know quite what to do with it. He shook his head. "I don't even know what side she was on. You've a better chance of knowing than me," he replied. He sighed, pocketing the piece. "I suppose we can ask the other vampires this evening. Get a full list of the identities of the deceased."

Draco nodded. "Then you're going to have a meeting with them?"

"We've arranged one, yes. Annalisa, was it? She's thankful for our participation last night, so she's permitted us a meeting with her family."

"What about?"

Lupin followed Draco's gaze, finding the divided clouds. "We want to insure that the local vampires are not going to be following any Dark Lords in future decades." He smiled, as if that was somewhat of a vain request. "And, yes, Draco, we probably will discuss Hermione as well."

Draco felt his body tense. He'd had just about enough of people reading is mind, even if it was in a less literal sense. "What about her exactly?"

"With her," Lupin corrected. "I suppose we'll find out where she'll be staying from now on. If she's intent on rejoining her parents in the future. If she'll still be helping us with the cause. . .There's much to be discussed."

Her future. Draco hadn't really thought of that, and he honestly didn't want to begin now.

"What made you change your mind about her?" A sneer was pulling at his lips. "Last I heard, you and Potter were discussing Hermione's trustworthiness."

Lupin bit his jaw, holding back the hint of a smile. His hands hung uselessly in his deep pockets. "I've always trusted Hermione," he said, his voice soft. He chewed his lip a moment more. "But there are a great many vampires, as I sure you can attest to, who would be more than willing to use such a trusted friend against us. And they have the power to do so.

"We had gotten word of some violent exchange between Death Eaters and vampires moments before a rather panicked Harry and Ron literally showed up at our doorstep with Hermione. Those three, they're a force to be reckoned with. And they're damned convincing."

Draco frowned. "It would take something terrible to divide them," he noted, almost bitterly. It didn't help his mood to see the male subjects of their conversation approaching, looking pummeled and yet overly energetic from the evening's events. "She'll stay to help Potter."

"We'll see," Lupin replied. He waved at the boys before turning back to Draco. "Draco, you're tired. How would you like to come back with us? We have safe houses, places where you can stay hidden, if you'd prefer."

"I want to stay here. She's sleeping here, isn't she?"

There was no reason to ask the name of the 'she' in question. Lupin shook his head, pushing a loud sigh from his nose. "Yes, of course. Annalisa put her up for the day. I'll show you to her room."

_

* * *

_

He should have known that she would be given a room alone, but, for some reason, the pure civility of the small, rich quarters was unsettling. Though he knew that he was below the surface chambers, the bright green and gold décor of the bedroom made him believe, if only for a moment, that he was in a normal home, a human home. Hermione had even left the two lamps aglow, spilling their golden, if meager, light on the lively colors at the center of the room.

The door shut and locked behind him, Draco stepped up to the canopy bed, pulling back the sheer, yellowed curtains. It was darker inside the cushioned sanctuary. He smiled at her serene face, pressed into the pillows as she slept on her stomach, arm curled beneath her head.

He kicked his shoes from his feet and washed his face in the basin at her bedside table.

"Take off your clothes," she whispered. "You smell like blood."

Draco turned to see that she was, in her own sense, awake. Her tired eyes were barely cracked open, as if the light around her was an afront, and she had not moved her body in the least, though her lips were now parted. Without hesitation, Draco slipped out of his clothing and laid down beside her, not bothering to steal the thin cover over her body. Even beneath the dirt, the day's heat would catch up with them. He tucked an arm beneath his tangled blond hair and tilted his head to the side so that he could see her.

"Closer," she breathed.

He turned onto his side, gently laying a hand over her. She slid her arm beneath his and shifted so that she was pressed against him, her head on his collar, the blanket separating their lower bodies. Her embrace was gentle, needless.

"Are you hungry?" Draco asked.

She blinked, looking up at him with bright brown eyes. "I don't think I am," she said, surprised. She smiled softly. "I'm glad you're alright. I was afraid they'd hurt you."

"You should feed, Hermione."

She shook her head, forcing his chin to nestle on the soft brown curls at her temple. "Go to sleep," she said.

Draco ran his fingers down her spine, staring out at the curtain behind her body. "What's wrong?" he asked. He felt his throat tighten, some pain there, building. He tried to swallow down the sentence. "You're acting strange."

She didn't respond at first. Then her arm tightened around him. "I lost you."

"And you found me again."

Hermione shook her head. "You're tired. Go to bed, Draco."

"Not until you tell me what's wrong," Draco snapped.

She kissed his chest gently. "I care about you," she whispered. "Sleep."

Draco felt her pulling at his mind, filling in the gaps Darien had left. His body relaxed in an instant, and he was unable to keep his eye lids from surrendering to her wishes.

He dreamt of the sun. She was there, as well, in it, smiling, laughing. They were in school, and younger, and different. It was a pleasant lie. It told him that he'd been kind when he bumped into her in the hall. That she'd blushed when he returned her notes in class. That they'd spoken and those around them didn't care. Didn't say a word. That he'd touched her bushy hair and found it endearing instead of annoying. That he'd thought of her friends as competition and not enemies.

And they both had heart beats. That was special, too. That was different.

"This is a dream," Draco said.

She nodded, looking out at the rest of their potion's class. They were alone. No teacher, no classmates, simply a cauldron, stirring itself as they stared down into its simmering contents.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "It's a dream. It's how I wish it could have been. Of course, it's entirely wrong. But that's why it's a dream."

Draco smiled to himself. "In school. . . You didn't find me the least bit attractive?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid not. I've always found that the people whose company I enjoy are the most attractive of all. And, truthful, I highly disliked you. I found you despicable, actually."

"My, isn't dream-Granger brutally honest," Draco snorted.

She grinned chidingly at the use of her last name. "And you didn't think the same of me?" she pointed out.

"Oh, I hated you with a bloody passion," he said, proudly. "Hated you even more when I started to find you attractive in fourth year. Damn traitor known as puberty. Thought your were even more dangerous then."

Hermione laughed. She turned to face him and her humor faded away. "I'll miss you, Draco. I never thought in a million years I'd ever say that. But it's true. There are so many things that I'll miss. But I never thought that you'd be on that list."

"This is just a dream?" Draco asked, confused. He released a breath at her nod. "So I can say whatever I like? Without consequence?"

Hermione frowned. "I wouldn't if I were you."

He shook his head. "I. . . I wouldn't ever say it out there. Because it's wrong to." His fingers caressed her cheek, lifting her face up so that she was forced to look at him. "But here, I can, can't I? I can say that I think I love you."

"You know that isn't true." Hermione pushed his hand away from her skin, cupping it in her own. She cocked her head to the side, pity in her eyes. "Every man _loves_ the first woman he makes love to."

Draco raised a brow. "That was 'making love'?"

She snorted. "The last time was."

"Thanks for clarifying." Draco pulled away from her, taking a step back. "So you're not going to say it back."

"I'm not going to hurt you anymore," she replied. "And that falls into the hurtful category."

"Then what the hell do you call the feeling I'm having right now?" Draco snapped. He scowled at her, turning away. The classroom door was open. He could see Potter and Weasley walking by. "Is it because you'd rather have them?"

"I need to tell them goodbye, Draco." She touched his back. "I'm not going to hurt you anymore."

Draco turned to find her missing and his world yellow, a sickening color of bile that was slowly burning through shape and form. He blinked, alert at once, and realized that he was staring into the bed's curtain. He retracted this arm, which lay over the bare mattress beside him, and sat up. He gave confusion only a split second to wreck its havoc before slipping off of the bed and into his pants.

The hallway outside was quiet, empty of answers, so he ran up the staircase instead, and slammed into a form at the top. Annalisa's cold grip held him in a steely vice. She stared at him, as if searching his face for some hiding answer.

"Hermione?" he asked, without thought.

Annalisa didn't release him, her lips a steady line of red that was as unmoving as her brow. Finally, she opened her mouth.

"You're responsible, you and the girl. I lost my favorite son because of you," she said.

Draco's gray eyes narrowed, and he pushed himself even closer to her. "Did you do something to her? Tell me!" he demanded.

Annalisa's lips turned up, ever so slightly. "Nothing that she did not ask for. You still don't understand, do you? She's a murderer."

Draco shook his head. "Are you insane? It was my idea to poison Darien--she didn't have a part. And unless you're completely unhinged, you know the only reason we did what we did was to stop your son from murdering us!"

She straightened slightly. "No, boy, she didn't kill Darien. You're her victim. She's murdering you." One of her hands released him, its fingers running along the pinkened scars marring his neck. "Bringing you closer to death, drop by drop."

"You're full of shit."

Annalisa raised a brow. "Darien didn't explain it to you, did he? He didn't tell you why he chose you?"

Draco felt his body tense. "What's that got to do with Hermione?"

"We don't tell the world all of our secrets. Especially our weaknesses." The vampire ran her fingers through his hair, looking at him with wide, maternal eyes as if he were a small child. "We are so strong, our kind. And yet there are so few of us. You've probably never wondered why, but there is, indeed, a reason. Our kind cannot reproduce like humans, neither can we simply make more of our own at every whim. That is why we call the ones we turn our children. Because children are not chosen. They are picked for us, by some higher process."

"I don't understand." Draco struggled against her hold. "Let me go. I need to see, Hermione."

"Sometimes," Annalisa continued, "a vampire sees a human and the blood sings, he knows at once that the person is his child to be. Darien saw you several years ago and knew at first sight that you were his son. But he chose to wait until the time was ripe before taking you. With Hermione, it was a surprise to him. Rarely does a vampire have more than one potential child within a decade or longer. Darien chose to sacrifice her and continue with his original plans. He didn't realize that you were so attached to humanity, to the girl."

Draco blinked in confusion. "But what if she hadn't been. . . What if she'd not been a 'potential' when she was dying? I thought that was all it took, feeding her his blood."

"Do you remember Darien's human caretaker? She was not his daughter, so Darien never tried to take her blood." Annalisa frowned. "When we take the blood of a human who isn't our child, we kill them. Or, if the exchange is extreme enough, we turn them into an undead thing, an empty husk. No light, no soul. That's why it is so very important that a vampire only take from their own children."

"But. . ." Draco held his breath as he reached out for Hermione, screaming in his mind for an answer. "Hermione isn't. . . She doesn't take that much. She wouldn't try to kill me. She's learning to control herself."

"It doesn't matter, Draco." Annalisa loosened her grip on him. "You're not meant for her. She knows as much. And if you're not hers, sooner or later, you will die."

_

* * *

_

Ron wanted to push the tears back. They didn't do a good job, he thought, of showing his anger. And that's all he wanted to show. He didn't want them to see how broken he felt.

"This isn't right!" he snapped. "Nothing you can say can change my mind on this. Malfoy doesn't deserve this--he doesn't deserve the right to live! Not over you of all people. . ."

"Ronald. . ." Hermione reached out, but Ron slapped her hand away.

"No!" he shouted, nearly stumbling in his haste to move away from her. He turned his glare on Harry. "Come on, man! Surely you see how stupid this is. This is Malfoy, we're talking about!"

Harry looked down, unable to meet his best mate's eyes. "I'm staying."

"Fine!" Ron wiped his eyes. "Fine. Do whatever you like. I can't stop you, but I bloody well won't be here to watch."

The red-head's feet slapped against the stone staircase as he stomped away, leaving his two friends in silence.

"He's not wrong, Hermione," Harry finally said.

She held his hand, ignoring the skulls lining the wall, watching the pair with hollow eyes. "You'll do it though," she said. "Please, Harry. I need someone to watch over him. It's going to be hard at first. Painful."

Harry released her and pulled free his glasses, wiping them. "You love him."

"I'm not sure. There's something. I care enough to stop what's happening," she said. She closed her eyes, her brow wrinkled in anguish. "I can't be the reason for his death, Harry. He saved me too many times. From myself. This is the least I owe him."

Harry wrapped his arms around her. "To be so smart, you're awfully stupid at times," he breathed into her hair. "Goodbye, Hermione."

_

* * *

_

The catacombs were hidden, just outside the walls of the castle, but their entrance was easy enough for Annalisa to find. She took Draco by the hand, leading him down the stone staircase that hugged the tomb's wall. They were not in complete darkness. There were torches at the bottom, held high in their brass stands at every corner of the sarcophagus. Harry stood at its head, watching it, as if he expected the coffin within to open.

"She's there?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. "Sleeping," he said. His voice was hoarse, as if out of use. "For about an hour now."

Draco winced, the muscles of his body cramping in unison. He collapse to the stone floor, using his clamped teeth to ground out the groan of pain in his throat.

"Hurts," he said.

"You are feeling withdraw. Her body wants nourishment," Annalisa said. She put a hand on his shoulder, but didn't help him to his feet. "The pain you feel will not go away for quite a while. Not until the connection between the two of you has grown thin. I'm confident that you will survive it, however."

Draco stayed on his knees, staring at the stone box before him. "How long? How long will she stay that way? Forever?"

"No," Harry said. He sighed, as if regretting the answer. "Until you're safe. When the bond between the two of you is severed completely. That's what she said. She promised she'd be able to wake again. One day."

"Do not fool yourself," Annalisa chided. "The bond between the dead reborn and the living is very strong, the strongest, in fact. She may never wake in your lifetime. But, she will wake in mine. I will take care of her when she does."

Draco shook his head, his jaw set. "No, this isn't happening. I won't let it. She doesn't deserve this."

Harry stepped in front of him, blocking his view. "No, she doesn't. But it is happening. And her last wish is that you learn to live without her, and that I see to it. Don't you dare go and prove her a murderer, Malfoy. I mean it."

"Then this is it?"

Draco didn't hear the answer to the question. His mind was occupied by a reassurance. It wasn't in words or in pictures, but he could feel it there, a connection. His heart confirmed it; she'd be there, in his mind. It was why she'd never said goodbye to him. When he slept, he'd see her. And she'd see him back. She'd live through him, always.

And he would allow it. It was the least he could do. She had, after all, saved him.

**End Notes: I hope you've enjoyed this story so far. Please feel free to tell me what you think. I'll be putting up the epilogue soon.**


	31. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

It was magic that hid the catacombs so well in the brush, from both magic and muggle eyes. The entry was ornamented with no great, pillared door, but, instead, buried into the side of a ravine like its Greek predecessors in Milos were carved into stony walls. One could not tell from viewing it, a blackened, square hole covered in grasping roots and thorny fingers, but the entrance was well known to a good dozen living beings and visited often.

The passage breathed cool air over his face, and he closed his eyes, letting his nostrils examine the gentle scent in the air. He could always tell who the last visitor had been by the smell. Weasley was a daisy and wildflower sort of man, while, it seemed, Potter had a fondness for lilies. Draco wasn't sure what spell the two of them used to keep the tomb so perfectly scented over the years, but he was glad they had been so courteous as to continuously change the selection for her. Draco didn't bother; there were other things he brought her, and they were, very often, not things he left behind.

"Papa, I think I saw a kelpie!" a voice called.

Draco turned, brow raised in surprise. He watched the child wade, ankle deep in the clear waters of the stream, his black dress shoes abandoned on the grass. The child was no duplicate, but he resembled his father to such a great extent that his grandmother, more often than not, found herself calling him by her son's name. The little boy stood straight backed, still no taller than his father's thigh, and pointed around the shadowy bend.

"There," he insisted, smirking, as if the gesture was proof enough. "I saw its tail, like a horse's. I think it was changing shapes."

"Oh?" Draco managed to raise a smile. His son had a fascination for creatures that very few people could maintain past age five. His son was six. "Then perhaps you should get out of the water. Nana will have my head if you're caught by a kelpie."

The boy shrugged, as if unsure of why it would be such a bad thing to be face-to-face with any such being, and made his way to his socks.

"Why are we here, Papa?" he asked. The child stood up, letting his laces tie themselves.

"I've told you already, Scorpius," Draco chided. "We're visiting a friend of mine. She's in the catacombs." At his son's puzzled glance, he continued. "Catacombs are like tombs."

Scorpius glanced the dark entrance and grabbed his father's fingers for comfort. "Is she dead?" he asked, his voice soft. He'd learned to whisper at his grandfather's burial and had since kept the habit when passing cemeteries.

Draco shook his head, unsure of his answer. "She's sleeping," he said, "until she feels like coming out again. She's a vampire. Remember what I told you about vampires."

Before Scorpius could recite his father's words, he was distracted by Draco's wand. The boy's eyes, a bluer shade than his father's gray ones, studied the movement. Draco swept his wand over the entry and the roots and mangled weeds retreated, cleaning the staircase, temporarily.

"Watch your step," Draco said, leading his son by the hand down the stone walk. "_Lumos_."

The beam of light was for the child's convenience. The meager glow of the torches at the bottom floor of the wide vault was more than enough for someone who had visited so often.

"Hermione?" Draco said, as his foot hit the final step. He received no answer, no mental call of his name. But, even after all of these years, he felt a certain stirring within him, and he knew that she was aware, if only as aware as a dreamer hearing the interrupting call for wake-up.

Scorpius was quiet, an appendage of his father. Draco knew that it wasn't solemn politeness but engrossing curiosity that plagued his only offspring, so he waved him forward. The child ran a hand over the top of the sarcophagus-like box as if it were as delicate as porcelain.

"I got your message," Draco said, to the coffin, remembering the dream he'd had the previous night well. It was certainly nothing that he could bring up in front of his son, but its conclusion had been obvious. Hermione wanted something from him. He approached her, feeling, as usual, somewhat silly, and took a seat on the floor at the head of the tomb. He could hear his son circling the stone cover, as he were pretending to be a raider looking for some hidden curse carved into its side.

"I suppose it's about time," he continued, his voice lower. "I should have brought him to visit you sooner, but. . . I always assumed it was unnecessary, since you can see him just as well through my eyes." He looked down, twisting the knotted gold of his wedding band and wishing very much that he had the courage to take it off, at long last. "And I didn't think his mother would approve very much." He swept his tongue over his bottom lip and chewed it in thought. "I suppose that I'll never know now, though, will I?"

He received no answer and expected none. But the slightest sensation of arms wrapping around him warmed his body. Draco released a sigh, resting his head against the stone. The early wrinkles at his eyes were easy tells and gave away the emotion that his mouth refused to express.

"I don't know what I'd do without Scorpius, Hermione." He smiled, imagining dark, honey eyes staring at him. "He's kept me sane, you know. I'm not as big a prat around him."

_Son._

Draco blinked, surprised. He hadn't imagined it. Four years had passed since the last time he'd heard her voice outside of his dreams. The tiniest mutter felt like fire pouring down his veins.

"Yes, my son," he said, smiling. "I was afraid at first, when Astoria was pregnant. I was afraid that I'd be doomed to be like my father. But it's different. He calls me papa, and I tell him stories at night. So far, so good, as they say."

_Son. _

Draco paused, his brow wrinkled in confusion. His body trembled in knowing, but he pushed down his panic, smirking at the quiet grave. "Getting a bit repetitive, are we?"

_Knew him, as soon as I smelled you approaching. Knew my son._

The air around him seemed to freeze into little shards of ice that he couldn't quite swallow down. He shook his head and pushed himself to his feet, his frantic eyes immediately finding his son, playing with one of the torches.

"No, Hermione," Draco breathed. "Anything but that. . ."

He heard no reply.

Scorpius looked up, as if noticing his father's voice for the first time. "What's wrong?" he said. He stepped away from the fire as if he thought he might be scolded. "Papa?"

"Nothing," Draco forced. Dazed, he stared at the stone slab. It didn't move, but his pulse sped. "He can't be," he whispered and blinked down tears. "It can't happen again. Not to him. Not now."

_Not now. But one day. _

"I'll stop it from happening," Draco replied, his voice stern.

_Hope. _

"Me too."

He held out a hand. Scorpius took it without hesitation, frowning at the catacombs as if their darkness was just then becoming clear.

"I miss you, Hermione," Draco said. He glanced down. "Say goodbye, Scorpius."

The reaching vines, covered in their needle-like armor, wrapped around the entry as soon as the two wizards had passed out into the warm daylight. Green spilled out like a living rug over the evidence of their footfalls on the stone.

Draco stared at the entrance, unable to feel the venom he knew should remain. He knew, without a doubt, that he should feel rage towards someone, anyone, but he couldn't. The tugging at his mind told him that there was no one at fault, that one could not choose their children.

A tear slid down his cheek, splashing onto the front of his shirt like a stain.

"What's wrong, Papa?" his son begged, pulling at his father's wrist. His eyes were pleading, but could not see beyond the surface. "Are you hurt?"

Draco shook his head. "I'll tell you when you're older," he promised, and smiled down. "Let's go home."

**End Notes: Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoyed my story. Please feel free to tell me what you thought. Thanks again--all of the reviews really meant so much to me :D**


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